unit that sat on top of his television. “It works just fine, I can record and all that, but I can’t seem to set the clock.”
“No problem.” I’d been eyeing one of these for a while, but had held off buying because of the six-hundred- plus dollar price tag. But it would be nice to actually record movies and television shows to keep.
I set the clock for him.
“A wizard, that’s what you are.”
“I’ve been thinking about getting one of these.”
He snorted a derisive laugh. “A gift from my daughter. She’s in Los Angeles. She’s in the entertainment business. These things are supposedly going to be all the rage in a few years. Thing is, for as much as it costs, you can’t find all that many movies to play in it. There’s a place over on Church Street that just opened, claims they have the biggest selection in the city-which amounts to being the most gifted ballerina in Hoboken, if you ask me, which I realize you didn’t, but I’m old and lonely and like the sound of my own voice and, besides, you haven’t exactly been taken hostage here, have you?”
“You in show business too?”
“Used to be.” He extended his hand. “Name’s Weis. Marty Weis. Friends call my ‘Whitey’ because of my hair. You can call me ‘Mr. Weis.’ ”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Weis. I think.”
“Pleasure to meet you, too. Maybe. Hey-did you know that back in the heyday of vaudeville, Cedar Hill used to be one the biggest tour stops?”
I leaned against the door. ‘Whitey’ needed to talk to someone, I suddenly felt so sick I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk another ten feet, and after the near-miss with Old Farts #1 and #2 my guilt tank was already on ‘F.’ I wasn’t going to take any chances.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t know that. I know it was once the boxing capital of the country.”
“Back in the late thirties, early forties, you bet it was. It was the same thing with vaudeville. You know the Old Soldiers and Sailors Building?”
I shook my head.
“‘Course not-you’d know it as the Auditorium Theatre.”
“The one across from the Midland?”
“The very one. You ever get the chance, you ought to go in there and head down to the basement. There’s a wall directly underneath the front of the stage that’s covered in autographs from all the acts who played there. Houdini’s autograph is there, so are the Three Keatons’. I’ve been there, I’ve seen it. There must be a thousand autographs on that wall. Now that the place doesn’t show movies or book acts anymore-”
“-not in about twenty years,” I said.
“Thanks, I wasn’t feeling enough like a fossil tonight.” He shook his head. “It’s a damn shame, all that history down there, all those names-some of famous people, too-just stuck down there in the dark where no one can see them.”
“I never knew that.”
“Not too many folks do, and the ones who are old enough to remember, can’t anymore.”
“Except you.”
“Except me. I used to be a talent agent. The Double-Dubya. Whitey Weis. Midwest Talent and Entertainment. Handled Gypsy Rose Lee for about a month near the end of her career. Lot of other acts, too, but I doubt you’d know the names.”
“Names that are on the wall under the stage at the Auditorium?”
“That’s right. Thank you for setting my clock.”
“What’re you going to watch?”
“Watch? Hell, I’m not going to watch anything. You see what’s on these days? There’s a cop show, Blue Hills or Blue Street or-”
“ Hill Street Blues?”
“That’s the one. It might turn into something if they can ever hold the goddamn camera still, but otherwise-” He waved it away with a wince and a snort. “The blinking light was getting on my nerves. Thanks for setting the clock and listening to me prattle on. Now go. Away with you. Fair Mabel awaits. Just make sure you check the apple juice before drinking.”
“Did I hear my name?”
We both turned and saw Mabel standing in the hallway. She smiled at me. “Is Whitey here giving you a hard time?”
“I was only extolling your innumerable virtues to this no-good hoodlum. What you see in the likes of him is beyond me. Why waste your feminine charms on hamburger when you’ve got all of this”-He gestured down at himself-“prime cut beef right under your nose?”
“This is Beth’s guy,” she said.
“ This is him?” He rolled his chair closer, narrowing his eyes as he gave me the Double-Dubya once-over. “No accounting for taste. Well,” he said, rolling his chair away, “as long as he’s good to her.”
“He is. He treats me well, too.”
“He’d better. Make sure you have him set your clocks. Seems to be his most valuable asset.”
I laughed. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, as well.”
“That makes one of us.” He winked at me. “Never mind me, son. I’m colorful. That’s what happens when you live long enough. You get colorful.”
“Strother Martin in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
“Oh, good, he can quote throwaway lines from movie dialogue. Thank God I lived long enough to witness such a wonder. You realize, don’t you, that the area in your brain you just pulled that little tidbit from used to hold your parents’ anniversary date, right? ‘Sorry, Mom and Dad, forgot today was your thirtieth but, hey, I can quote lines from William Goldman scripts! That makes up for a lifetime of my disappointing you at every turn, doesn’t it?’ For the love of all that’s true and pure, Mabel, take him away before he launches into a recitation of the Steiger and Brando ‘I-Coulda-Been-a-Contender’ scene from On the Waterfront. I might weep openly.”
Mabel slipped her arm through mine. “Good night, Whitey.”
“Did you hear that?”
“What?” I said, enjoying the hell out of him.
“That was the sound of my death getting ten seconds closer because I’m not getting the sleep I need. An old man needs his sleep and I’m not getting mine. Now, let’s see, hmmmmm -why might that be?”
“Good night, Mr. Weis.”
“Are you still here?”
“I only came to say I must be going.”
“On second thought, don’t bother checking the apple juice. It’d serve you right if she got the containers mixed up.”
Mabel giggled and pulled me away.
As we were walking toward the car I gave her my keys and told her why I wanted her to drive.
“I thought you were looking under the weather.”
“I feel like I’m under the ground. Six feet under, to be precise.”
In the car, I laid my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.
“Don’t mind Whitey,” she said. “He’s a good one. Sharp as hell.”
“I noticed. What’s the deal with his legs?”
“Diabetes. It’s pretty bad.”
“That’s terrible.”
Mabel nodded. “Sure is. I guess he used to be a dancer before he got into the talent agent business. He tell you all about the wall under the-”
“-stage at the Auditorium, yes. Is that true?”
“You know, it is. One of our supervisors has a cousin who used to work there when they showed movies. He’s seen it.”
“Huh.”
“That would be something to see for yourself, though.”
