'That's possible, I guess.'
Both men seemed preoccupied.
Even though they were discussing the Backward-Forward- Whatever machinations of the Deaf Man, Kling kept looking up at the clock behind the counter and Hawes kept using his fork to move French fries around in the ketchup on his plate.
'You gonna eat those or just play with them?' Kling asked.
'You want them?'
'No, I'm okay'
Hawes kept playing with the fries. At last, he looked up and said, 'Bert. . . there's something I want to ask you.'
Ah, Kling thought. This is why he wanted to have lunch. Never mind Mr. Adam Fen.
'It's about Augusta.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Will it bother you to talk about her?'
'No. All water under the bridge.'
'You sure?'
'Positive.'
'Actually, in fact, it's about Augusta as she relates to Honey.'
'Uh-huh. Their names, do you mean?'
'No. Their names? What about their names?'
'Augusta Blair, Honey Blair. I was wondering if you . . .'
'No, that isn't...'
'. . . thought maybe they were related or something.'
'Never crossed my mind.'
'Because Blair is a common name, you know,' Kling said.
'Sure. Hey, Tony Blair, right?'
'Exactly. Anyway, Blair isn't Gussie's real name.'
'What do you mean?'
'Blair isn't the name on her birth certificate.'
'Then what is it?'
'Bludge.'
'What?'
'Augusta Bludge.'
You're kidding me.'
'No. She changed it when she went into modeling.'
'Why does that always fascinate people?' Hawes asked. 'Who cares what name is on a person's birth certificate? Nobody is born with a name, you know, there isn't a name stamped on anyone's forehead. A person is given a name by his or her parents. A person inherits a surname, like it or not, and then he's given a first name. That's why it's called a 'given' name. Because it's given to him. So if a guy wants to give himself a new name,
that's entirely his business, isn't it? You think I like the name 'Cotton'?' he asked, gathering steam. 'How would you like to go through life with the name 'Cotton'? Or 'Hawes,' for that matter. You know how many times I was called 'Horse' when I was a kid? You know how many times I've been tempted to change it? Cotton Hawes? So who cares what Augusta's real name was? Anyway, you don't mean her real name, do you? Because the minute she changed it, her real name became Blair, didn't it? You mean her birth name, don't you? Isn't that what you mean?'
'I guess so,' Kling said, sorry he'd brought up the entire matter.
'Because Augusta Blair is her real name now,' Hawes insisted. 'Whatever it used to be. Bludge, Shmudge, who cares?'
'I guess so,' Kling agreed. 'She even kept Blair when we got married.'
'Bludge, who'da thought? What is that, German? She looks so Irish. I mean that red hair
Auburn, actually.'
'Who'da thought?' Hawes said, and moved some more fries around on his plate.
Anyway, I don't think they're related,' Kling said. 'Her and Honey. If that's what you wanted to ask.'
'Unless Honey's real name,' Hawes said, landing hard on the real to make his point yet another time, 'was Henrietta Bludge or something.'
'Yes, in which case, they might be sisters,' Kling said.
'Or cousins,' Hawes said.
'Small world, sure,' Kling said.
Both men fell silent.
'But what I wanted to know,' Hawes said, and moved another fry, 'is what it was like being married to a celebrity.'
'Well, we're divorced now,' Kling said. 'I guess that tells you what it was like.'
'I meant, the celebrity part. Cause Honey's something of a celebrity herself, you know. Not like Augusta, I mean she's on the cover of every fashion magazine you pick up. But lots of people watch Honey on the news . . .'
'Oh, sure.'
'So I was wondering ... I mean, I'm just a cop, we're both just cops . . .'
'I know what you mean, yes.'
'... and these two women make a lot more money than we do . . .'
'Yes.'
'. . . and are a hell of a lot better-looking than we are . . .'
'That's for sure.'
'So I wonder ... I can't help wondering ... I mean ... is it going to work? I know it didn't work for you, Bert
'No, it didn't,' Kling said.
Neither of the men mentioned what was common knowledge in the squadroom: Kling had caught his wife in bed with another man.
'What I want to know . . . should I talk it over with Honey? The possible . . . you know . . . problems that may come up?'
'It's always best to talk it over,' Kling said.
Same advice Carella had given him a long time ago, when Kling first began to realize there might be trouble in Paradise.
But, of course, talking it over hadn't helped a damn bit.
That hot summer.
The heat that summer.
'Let her know how you feel,' Kling said, and looked up at the clock again.
'You got a taxi waiting?' Hawes asked.
'No, it's just I have to talk to this guy whose pawn shop was held up.'
Hawes looked at his own watch.
'Tell her it bothers me, huh?' he asked. 'Her being a celebrity?'
'Sure. If it really bothers you, sure. Talk it over.'
'Well, actually that's not what's really bothering me, exactly.'
'Then what is?'
'I just get the feeling ... ah, forget it. I'm being a cop, that's all.'
'What is it, Cotton?'
'I get the feeling she's not being completely honest with me.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Holding something back, you know?'
Join the club, Kling thought.
