The Frumious Bandersnatch

“But when I was in my twenties, I’d be out with some guy…well, even lately, for that matter, before I became a cop. I mean this isn’t something that just goes away, it’s a constant with a woman. I’d be having a drink with some guy…”

“How old are you, anyway?” Ollie asked.

“Oh, gee, you’re not supposed to ask that.”

“Why not? I’m thirty-eight,” he said.

“I was thirty in February.”

“February what?” he asked, and took out his notebook.

“You gonna write it down?” she said, surprised.

“Sure.”

“Why?”

“So I can buy you a present. Provided it ain’t too close to Valentine’s Day.”

“No, it’s February twenty-seventh.”

“Good. So then I can get youtwo presents,” he said.

“Nobody ever gave me a Valentine’s Day present,” Patricia said.

“Well, you wait and see,” he said, and scribbled her name and the date of her birthday in his book.

“Creme de menthe for the lady,” the waiter said, “and a Courvoisier for the gentleman.”

“Thank you,” Ollie said.

“My pleasure, sir,” the waiter said, and smiled, and walked off again.

“Cheers,” Ollie said.

“Cheers,” she said.

They both drank.

“Gee, Istill feel safe,” Ollie said.

“Me, too,” she said, and grinned. “But what I was saying, Oll, is that before I became a cop, I’d be having a drink with some guy who took me out, or even just standing with some guy who was chatting me up in a bar, and I’d all at once be on my guard. Like don’t drink too much, Patricia, watch out, Patricia, this guy may be the son of a bitch who’ll rape you, excuse my French, Oll. Or coming home late at night on the subway, cold sober, I’d always be afraid some two-hundred-pound guy was going to pounce on me and beat me up and rape me. I’m five- seven…”

“I know,” Ollie said, and smiled. “That’s a good height.”

“Thank you. And I weigh a hundred and twenty pounds. What chance would I have against some guy’s been lifting weights in the prison gym? That’s why I’m glad Josie’s in my bag. Anybody gets wise with me, he’s got to deal not only with me but with Josie, too.”

“I’d sure hate to meet you in a dark alley,” Ollie said.

“You would? I take that as a compliment, Oll.”

“You know something?”

“What?”

“Nobody ever called me ‘Oll’ before. I mean before tonight. I mean before you did.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well…is that all right? I mean…‘Oll’ sounds so natural. I mean…it seems to fit you.”

“Oll,” he said, trying it.

“Oll,” she said, and shrugged tentatively.

“Here’s to it,” he said, and raised his glass. “Oll.”

“Here’s to it,” she said, and clinked her glass against his.

The band was playing “Tenderly.”

“Wanna dance again?” Patricia asked.

“Yes, I would,” Ollie said.

“You’re a good dancer, Oll,” she said.

“Oll,” he said, testing the name again, tasting it like wine.

“Is it okay?” she asked.

“Yes, it’s just fine, Patricia,” he said, and led her inside and onto the dance floor.

CHANNEL FOUR’S OWNprivate motor launch pulled up alongside just as theRiver Princess slowed her speed and lowered the loading platform and ladder on her port side. Somewhat a celebrity in her own right, more for her spectacular legs than for her news coverage, Honey Blair drew a sizable crowd of somewhat-celebrities themselves to that side of the boat, where—followed by her crew of three—she climbed to the main deck, an abundance of leg and thigh showing in the short leather mini she was wearing. Honey was accustomed to dressing somewhat skimpily for her roving reporter assignments on the Eleven O’Clock News, a penchant that made her one of the station’s favorites. Tonight, to complement the short blue leather mini, she was wearing calf-high navy leather boots with not-quite stiletto heels, and an ice-blue, long-sleeved, clingy silk blouse, its pearl buttons unbuttoned to show just the faintest shadowed beginnings of her cleavage. Honey normally looked cool and swift and sexy. But in tonight’s crowd, she resembled somebody’s maiden aunt from Frozen Stalks, Idaho.

Tamar Valparaiso was scheduled to be taped at tenP.M. , which would give Honey time enough to get back to the studio, do some quick editing, and get the piece on the air by eleven-twenty, after they’d covered all the local fires, murders, political scandals, and a weensy bit of international news so that the channel wouldn’t seem like just another hick television station here in one of America’s biggest cities. Honey’s taped segment would be followed by Jim Garrison doing the day’s sports, which meant that a lot of male viewers in their thirties, a large part of Tamar’s target audience, would be watching her do “Bandersnatch” for two or three minutes, after which Honey would interview her, all panting and sweaty—Tamar, not Honey—for another minute or so. That was a hell of a big bite of television time, and don’t think Binkie Horowitz and everyone else at Bison didn’t realize it.

It was one thing to have the video premiere on all four music channels yesterday. It was another to get coverage like this on one of the big three networks, during the Eleven O’Clock News, no less, following the Saturday night movie. Binkie had every right to feel proud of himself for landing the spot.

Now that Honey was here, Binkie’s job was to make sure she was a) comfortable and b) well prepared for the short interview that would follow Tamar’s performance. Honey was meticulous about not drinking on the job, so while her crew set up their cameras alongside the polished dance floor where Tamar and her partner would be performing, Binkie plied Honey with rich dessert and hot tea while filling her in on Tamar’s background, such as it was.

“She comes from karaoke,” he said, “can you imagine? Used to perform in clubs in southwest Texas, her father’s Mexican, you know, her mother’s Russian. Nice little background story there, by the way, how they met. He’s a vacuum cleaner salesman, her mother’s a beautician, this is a real American success story, immigrants coming here from different parts of the world, raising an all-American girl who’s poised on the edge of stardom— do I detect a skeptical look on your face?”

Honey raised her shoulders and her eyebrows.

“My dear woman,” Binkie said, “Tamar Valparaiso is like nothing you have ever seen before, just you wait. She is new, she is original, dare I say she is seminal? She already had vibrato when she was eight, she has a five-octave range, and she can sight-read any piece of music you put in front of her, including opera. She’s not only going to be the biggest diva to explode on the CHR-pop scene in decades, she’s also going to be a big movie…”

“What’s CHR-pop?” Honey asked.

“Contemporary Hit Radio,” Binkie said by rote.

“You don’t want me to use that word on the air, do you?” Honey asked.

“What word is that?” Binkie asked. “Radio?”

“Diva.”

“Why not?”

“It’s derogatory. It’s customarily used to describe a temperamental opera singer.”

“Not in rock music, it’s not.”