“Take a sip of the bourbon,” I said. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Callie sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Cheers.”
We clinked glasses, and I said, “Let it sit on your tongue a few seconds, until you taste the caramel.”
Callie did as she was instructed, but quickly made a face and spit a mouthful of bourbon into her water glass.
“How can you
I looked at the hazy, amber liquid in her water glass, and frowned.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” I said. “It’s like spitting in church.”
I picked up her tumbler and placed it next to mine.
Callie grabbed my water glass and drank furiously. When she regained her composure, she took a sip of chardonnay.
I lifted my tumbler and took another pull.
“‘We make fine whiskey,’” I recited. “‘At a profit if we can, at a loss if we must, but always fine whiskey.’”
“What’s that from?” Callie said.
“Pappy Van Winkle’s motto.”
“I wonder if I’ll ever get the taste out of my mouth,” she said.
“We were talking about Burt Lancaster,” I said.
“Right. Why would he quit trapeze to become an actor?”
“World War II broke out, he enlisted, became an elite soldier, Army Special Services. From there, he sort of backed into the motion picture industry, using his trapeze training to become one of the greatest stuntmen in Hollywood.”
Callie picked up her napkin, placed it in her lap and seemed to study it.
“I used to watch Eva practice every night,” she said.
“Back in Atlanta when you were guarding her?”
Callie nodded. “At first she had trouble being upside down. It made her dizzy and gave her headaches. I figured she’d give up, but she kept at it, forcing herself to face her fear.”
“Takes a lot of guts,” I said, waiting to see where this was heading.
The waiter asked if we’d like an appetizer. I ordered the lobster salad. Callie deferred.
“Each trapeze artist has a unique style,” she said. “Some are highly structured, almost mechanical. Emotionless. Like Chris Evert playing tennis. Others, like Eva, seem to dance on air.”
She’d said that last part as if talking to herself. I had one last factoid rolling around in my head and figured to use it.
“He said he never lost his love for the trapeze,” I said.
She looked at me absently, so I continued: “Burt Lancaster. He worked out on trapeze swings until he was almost seventy.”
I looked at Callie and noticed her eyes had brimmed with tears. In the years I’d known and worked with her, I’d never seen this side of her.
“You okay?” I said.
“I can’t let her die, Donovan.”
“It’s been arranged. She’s Tara Siegel’s body double. You have to step aside.”
“I can’t. I won’t.”
