Puppy leaned with intimate urgency against the railing. “Are they really? Or don’t they want you, Ms. Hayden? Oh, we’re too happy to have funeral homes. We bounce and kick a big fat ball you can’t miss.”
“Maybe,” she conceded. “But I don’t want this. It’s beneath death.”
“You don’t want to reach your fastest growing customer?” That got her attention. “Who comes to baseball games?”
“No one.”
He risked a digit by wagging his finger. “DVs. Baseball’s fan base was always more DVs.”
“Miners,” she sneered.
“DVs, ma’am. Poor health. Stress. You know they die in greater numbers than the rest of the population. Haggard DVs shuffling to their seats, coughing, bones brittle, vitamin deficiencies, alcoholism, mental instability, sexual deviation, moral predators deservedly toppling on the edge of death. Hordes of shapeless, overweight, thrombotic, diabetic fans barely able to stay alive through the end of the game, wondering what happens if they don’t make it, who will make sure they’re not wrapped up in a big garbage bag, who will comfort their emaciated loved ones who will also probably die pretty damn soon.”
She stared, turning the hairs on his neck into needles. “Talk more.”
“I have the person who can answer all your questions.” He turned toward the Hawks dugout, repeating loudly, “I have the person who can answer all your questions.”
Ty popped onto the field dressed in a smart new suit and tie. Puppy dragged Hayden over.
“Ty Cobb, meet Adona Hayden, owner of Basil Hayden’s Funeral Homes. Ms. Hayden, Ty is player-manager of the Hawks. ”
“And a Hall of Famer in the first eligible class,” he added, leering slightly.
Hayden sniffed at Ty, frowning. “That smell.” She frowned again. “It’s formaldehyde.”
“No, Jen and James Cleaning Fluids.” Puppy laughed several octaves higher than normal. “We keep everything very sterile around here, including the players.”
“I think I know formaldehyde,” Hayden insisted.
Ty grunted. “Enough chit-chat. We here to do business or are we gonna stroke long ones all day?”
Hayden actually laughed like a human being. “Wouldn’t that be nice? My marketing guy here has been selling me the beans.”
“As they do.” Ty winked. “Them’s who can, don’t.”
She nodded uncertainly. “What would be the costs?”
Ty pulled her aside with a disdainful look at Puppy. “Look around. It’s a barn.”
“That’s what I think.”
“Like finding an unkempt piece of land in the swamp. A piece of land that might be valuable. Dirt cheap. Buy before it’s popular. That’s how I made a mint with Coca-Cola.”
Her tongue darted greedily. “How much is a mint?”
“Millions.” He poked her ribs and she giggled, light-headed from counting that many numbers. “They’re desperate. They figure a heavyweight like you buys in, everyone else’ll be interested. Hayden leads, the world follows.”
“Yes, of course. But will anyone really see the ad here?’
“Attendance is up 650 percent this week. This week alone. And you wouldn’t shoot only for this dump. Television, radio.” Ty spit ‘bacco juice over her head.
“Do you mean vidnews and vidrad?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Adona stared. “I’d get good terms?”
“Best possible. Full creative control. Plus two spokespersons for the price of one.”
“Oh really.” She paused playfully. “Who would that be?”
“I’m one of them.” Ty beamed. “Long as you use those fluffy velvet pillows, honey. I don’t want neck pain from eternal sleep.”
• • • •
MOOSHIE DRAPED THE straight black hair wig over the foam mannequin’s head, unnerving Puppy slightly. She adjusted a thick red curly wig, resettling onto the stool in Jimmy’s office, now her dressing room. Three shows per week. Last night, standing room only.
“I don’t feel comfortable interfering, handsome.”
He peered into the end of her red lipstick. “It’s important.”
“And Zelda’s personal life isn’t? You want her to give up a guy she loves so your crazy ex-wife is happy?”
“It’s larger than that.”
Mooshie laughed so hard she had to re-apply her lipstick. “I ain’t asking her. I like Zelda.”
“And I love Zelda.”
“Maybe she loves you, too, moron. Ever think that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Loves you. Like she wished you really meant to marry her.”
Puppy dropped onto the desk. “She said that?”
Mooshie shook her head. “Just a feeling from the way she looks at you.”
He studied her. “What, you’ve got some ghostly insights?”
“Damned if I know what I got,” she said into the mirror. “Memories all fused together. I think I know something and then suddenly I don’t. Pisses me off.”
“So you won’t talk to Zelda?”
She smacked his forehead with the heel of her palm. “No. You should be able to find someone. You’re not bad looking, although a romantic charmer you ain’t.”
“Well I can’t, okay? I need someone I trust. Someone who’ll really go along with this. In three days.”
“Isn’t this against the rules?”
“Like stealing someone’s prized autographed baseball glove to buy an illegal ID from the Pumpkin?”
“How do you know?”
“Pumpkin left me a squared note. ‘Puppy Lies.’”
Mooshie sighed tiredly. “Sorry. I should’ve asked. Figured I could always replace it easily enough.”
“It was the most important thing in the world to me,” he said softly.
“Now it’s gone.” She snapped her fingers. “Lesson learned. Nothing should be the most important thing in the world.”
“It wasn’t about a thing, Mooshie. It was about you.”
“You got me in person, sweet cheeks.” She playfully slapped his face and glanced at her reflection. Puppy gloomily drew a sad face on his hand with the mascara.
“What would the engagement mean?” Mooshie asked carefully, discarding the red curls for her own cropped hair. She fuzzed it out like a porcupine.
“Nothing. I’d just say I’m officially engaged, now Annette can be.”
“How carefully do they check? Used to be a team of Brown Hats would grill you to make sure you weren’t faking for money, favors.”
Puppy shook his head. “The government’s so happy people are breeding to catch up to the Allahs, they kind of look the other way, I hear.”
Mooshie spiked her hair more, pleased. “Kenuda’s a Cousin, right?”
“He’s a Third Cousin. Commissioner of Sport.”
“They still have the cap on the number of Cousins?”
“There were problems with elitism so they opened it up. No one knows for sure how many. Pablo’s going for Fifth
