all
Q: Yes, but it was real.
A: It only became real when he double-crossed me. Asked for a million instead of the two-fifty we’d agreed upon. Well, sure, he saw what was happening, I’m sure he was glued to that television screen day and night. Tamar had her fifteen minutes of fame, all right, in spades. It worked, you see! She was a diva overnight!
“A dead one,” Nellie said.
And Loomis buried his face in his hands and began sobbing again.
15
BERT KLINGfelt uncomfortable because the comic was telling jokes about black people. Even holding hands with Sharyn Cooke, even sitting at a table with her and Artie Brown and his wife, Kling felt uncomfortable. Maybe that was because he was the only white man in the place.
This was a black comedy club uptown in Diamondback, highly recommended by Brown, seconded as a good idea by Sharyn, who now seemed to be enjoying the black comic’s interpretation of an addict hitting on his mother for money.
“Like this is the first time the poor woman has heard this hard luck story, you know whut I’m sayin?” the comic asked. “Mama, I just needs a li’l bread to tide me over till mornin, Mama, I’ll pay you back then, I swear on Grandma’s grave, may she rest in peace.”
Laughter.
Even from Artie Brown, who’d dealt with a few addicts in his lifetime.
“Same tale he tell her ever time he strung out,” the comic said. “He Mama s’pose to believe it now. He goan take that money, friens, and shoot it in his arm or sniff it up his nose. He Mama know that! Y’know whut she should give him? A swiff kick in the
Applause now.
“Now whut’s all this fuss about this Tamar whutever her name is, some La-tino name? Ain’t she never dance with a black man before? She got to know, you dance with a black man, he goan rape you. Now that’s it, man. He just goan get all woody in his pants, and he goan rape you. How many of you ladies here has danced with a black man din’t get all woody on you? Am I right? You know whut I’m sayin, ladies, don’choo?”
Everybody laughed again.
Kling was not laughing.
Sharyn looked at him.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing,” he said.
“No, what?” she asked again, and squeezed his hand.
He shook his head.
She looked into his eyes.
“Really,” he said. “Nothing.”
But she knew him.
And it was something.
THEY HAD BEENsitting in Ollie’s car, listening to music and discussing the movie, which he couldn’t get over.
“It was so helpful to an emerging artist like myself,” he told Patricia. “Character,” he said. “Who’d have thought a person had to worry about character? With all the other things that burden a writer?”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” she said. “I was so afraid you might not.”
“Hey, just being with you would have been enough,” he said.
They were both silent for a moment.
It was now almost midnight, and the rain had let up, so Patricia suggested that maybe they should call it a night. Ollie got out of the car, and came around to her side to let her out. The rain had driven all the neighborhood gangstas inside, so he didn’t have to flash the Glock. He took her inside her building, and they waited for the elevator together. They both had to report for work at a quarter to eight, but neither of them seemed aware of the late hour.
When the elevator came, Ollie put out his arm to hold the doors open for her.
“Goodnight, Oll,” she said, “I had a wonderful time.”
“So did I, Patricia.”
“May I take you to dinner this Saturday night?” she asked.
He looked at her.
“Well, you said I should invite you.”
“Ah yes,” Ollie said, doing his world-famous W. C. Fields imitation. “I would be delighted, m’little chickadee.”
“Well good then,” she said, and raised herself on tip-toes and kissed him on the mouth.
Smiling, she stepped into the elevator.
She waggled her fingers at him as the doors closed.
She was still smiling.
In the softly falling drizzle, Ollie walked back to his car. Sitting behind the wheel, he closed the door against the rain, and put the key into the ignition.
Then, for some reason he could not quite understand, he put his head on the steering wheel and began weeping.
“I KNOW IT’S LATE,” Hawes said into the telephone.
“What time is it, anyway?”
He looked up at the squadroom clock.
“Almost twelve-thirty,” he said. “But we just wrapped up here, and…”
“Anything I should know?”
“Well, I don’t know who’s going to release this, us or the Feebs.”
“You cracked it,” Honey said.
“Well…”
“Come on over,” she said. “We’ll discuss it here.”
“It’s not too late?”
“I don’t have to be in till six tomorrow night.”
“Me, neither,” Hawes said. “Quarter to eight, in fact. Should I come over?”
“Sure,” she said. “This might turn into a scoop.”
“It very well might.”
“ ‘Boy Detective Cracks Kidnapping Case.’ ”
He visualized her spreading her free hand on the air.
“So…uh…should I come over?” he asked.
“Must be an echo in this place,” she said.
“Are you hungry?”
“Are you?”
“Shall I bring some sandwiches?”
“If you like.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
“I’m here,” she said, and hung up.
TEDDY WAS AWAKEwhen Carella got home at almost two in the morning. She turned on the bedside lamp,
