A Graveyard for Lunatics

know I can?t do the screenplay, for I?m not in love. You?d waste your money hiring me. End of lecture. And here,? I said, as we sailed past it and had to turn around, ?is the Brown Derby!?

It was an off evening. The Brown Derby was almost empty and there was no Oriental screen set up way in the back.

?Damn,? I muttered.

For my eyes had wandered over to an alcove on my left. In the alcove was a smaller telephone cubby where the reservation calls came in. There was a small reading lamp lit over a podium desk, on which just a few hours ago Clarence Sopwith?s picture album had probably lain.

Lying there waiting for someone to steal it, find Clarence?s address and?

My God, I thought, no!

?Child,? said Constance, ?let?s get you a drink!?

The maitre d? was presenting a bill to his last customers. The eye in the back of his head read us and he turned. His face exploded with delight when he saw Constance. But almost instantly, when he saw me, the light went out. After all, I was bad news. I had been there outside on the night when the Beast had been accosted by Clarence.

The maitre d? smiled again and charged across the room to dislocate me, and kissed each one of Constance?s fingers, hungrily. Constance threw her head back and laughed.

?It?s no use, Ricardo. I sold my rings, years ago!?

?You remember me?? he asked, astonished.

?Ricardo Lopez, also known as Sam Kahn??

?But then, who was Constance Rattigan??

?I burned my birth certificate with my underpants.? Constance pointed at me. ?This is??

?I know, I know,? Lopez ignored me.

Constance laughed again, for he was still holding her hand. ?Ricardo here was an MGM swim-pool lifeguard. Ten dozen girls a day drowned so he could pump them back to life. Ricardo, lead on.?

We were seated. I could not take my eyes off the rear wall of the restaurant. Lopez caught this and gave the corkscrew on the wine bottle a vicious twist.

?I was only an audience,? I said, quietly.

?Yes, yes,? he muttered, as he poured for Constance to taste. ?It was that stupid other one.?

?The wine is beautiful,? Constance sipped, ?like you.? Ricardo Lopez collapsed. A wild laugh almost escaped him.

?And who was that other stupid one?? Constance put in, seeing her advantage.

?It was nothing.? Lopez sought to regain his old dyspepsia. ?Shouts and almost blows. My best customer and some street beggar.?

Ah, God, I thought. Poor Clarence, begging for limelight and fame all his life.

?Your best customer, my dear Ricardo?? said Constance, blinking.

Ricardo gazed off at the rear wall where the Oriental screen stood, folded.

?I am destroyed. Tears do not come easily. We were so careful. For years. Always he came late. He waited in the kitchen until I checked to see if there was anyone here he knew. Hard to do, yes? After all, I do not know everyone he knows, eh? But now because of a stupid blunder, the merest passing idiot, my Great One will probably never return. He will find another restaurant, later, emptier.?

?This Great One?? Constance shoved an extra wine glass at Ricardo and indicated he fill it for himself, ?has a name??

?None.? Ricardo poured, still leaving my glass empty. ?And I never asked. Many years he came, at least one night a month, paying cash for the finest food, the best wines. But, in all those years, we exchanged no more than three dozen words a night.

?He read the menu in silence, pointed to what he wanted, behind the screen. Then he and his lady talked and drank and laughed. That is, if a lady was with him. Strange ladies. Lonely ladies??

?Blind,? I said.

Lopez shot me a glance.

?Perhaps. Or worse.?

?What could be worse??

Lopez looked at his wine and at the empty chair nearby.

?Sit,? said Constance.

Lopez glanced nervously around at the empty restaurant. At last, he sat, took a slow tasting of the wine, and nodded.

?Afflicted, would be more like it,? he said. ?His women. Strange. Sad. Wounded? Yes, wounded people who could not laugh. He made them. It was as if to cure his silent, terrible life he must cheer others into some kind of peculiar joy. He proved that life was a joke! Imagine! To prove such a thing. And then the laughter and him going out into the night with his woman with no eyes or no mouth or no mind?still imagined they knew joy?to get in taxis one night, limousines, always a different limousine company, everything paid for in cash, no credits, no identification, and off they would drive to silence. I never heard anything that they said. If he looked out and saw me within fifteen feet of the