Miss Perez had managed to find her way halfway back to the planet and, as she got out of the car, twenties in hand, she looked at Fred Astaire and said, “You’re him.”
“Always have been,” Astaire said.
“Is it okay I tell my Tia Alicia?” she asked.
“It would be my pleasure,” Astaire said as she opened the door.
“I don’t think I’m gonna spend this money ever,” she said.
“I suggest you do spend it,” said Astaire.
“Well,” she said, stepping onto the curb and brushing back a stray strand of hair. “Maybe one of them. Sorry I tried to kill you.”
I waved a hand in my best nonchalant manner.
“Willie?” she said to Talbott, but his head was down and he was in no mood for words of love.
Astaire pulled away from the curb and looked at Talbott and me in the rearview mirror.
“Well, Mr. Peters, where do we go from here?”
Chapter Seven: The Last Waltz
“What were you threatening Luna Martin with?” I asked, biting into my hot dog.
“Pardon me?” Willie Talbott answered.
I finished my dog, a giant Poochie Dog with kraut and a Pile-O-Fries from the Tastee Pup, a stand on Washington shaped like a giant Collie. Sandwiches were served over the counter in the dog’s belly. We-Fred Astaire and Willie Talbott-sat at one of the four wooden tables next to the dog. A couple of young women dressed for office work kept looking over at us, trying to decide if the man in sunglasses and Greek fisherman’s cap was someone famous.
Astaire sat with his legs crossed, facing Talbott. Astaire’s dog was naked, no ketchup, no nothing, just a red dog on a bun. I stood at his side next to the table, reaching down for my fries. My rear was only slightly improved. It felt better to stand.
“When I was a kid, I mean back in Seattle, they used to call me Twinkle-Toes, Twinkle-Toes Talbott,” Talbott said, wolfing down onion rings and looking over his shoulder for the Saint Bernard and the bulldog. “I had this talent with my feet, could pick up, improvise, show people how to do it.”
“Twinkle-Toes,” Astaire said, putting down his hot dog, “what were you threatening Luna Martin with?”
“Luna wasn’t much of a dancer,” Talbott said, looking at my side of fries now that his pile was exhausted. “But she looked good and she wanted to learn. So, we made a deal. You know what I mean?”
“Like the deal you have with Miss Perez?” I asked.
“Something like that,” he said. “You mind?” He pointed at my fries. I shrugged. He took a handful.
“And you taught her how to dance?” Astaire asked.
“Everything she knew,” Talbott said. “And she showed no gratitude, no loyalty, no appreciation. You think I might have another dog? I left all my money back in the office.”
Astaire fished his wallet out and handed Talbott a buck.
“Be right back,” he said and hurried to the open stomach of the collie, who looked suspiciously like Lassie, though Vivian Starbuck who owned the place insisted when asked that it was just a coincidence. “All collies look alike,” she said. “Mine just happens to look more like Lassie.”
“Having Luna Martin teach people to dance is like asking Hitler to teach the principles of Buddhism,” Astaire said, watching Talbott who stood patiently waiting for his food. “Maybe we should have let those two back there shoot him.”
“You mean it?”
“No,” said Astaire, looking at me over his sunglasses. “But the Twinkle-Toes Talbotts of the world are unleashing a plague of lead-footed smiling robots on the dance floors of America, robots who then go on to teach the Twinkle-Toes method of dance to their unwary friends and defenseless children.”
“That bad?” I asked.
“Worse, far worse,” said Astaire as Talbott came back to the table with an overloaded dog and a double side of fries.
“Before you put your teeth into that, Willie,” I said, pulling his full paper plate in front of me the moment he put it on the table. “Tell me what you had on Luna.”
Talbott looked to Astaire for help. The dancer was impassive under his Greek fisherman’s cap.
“Okay,” said Talbott with a sigh, glancing at the two lunching women who were sipping Pepsi and eyeing our table. “I needed a few dollars and I asked for a loan from Luna, just enough to pay off a few debts. You saw back there.”
“We saw,” Astaire said.
“Well,” Talbott went on, “I’m not proud of it, but I told Luna I’d tell Fingers Forbes that she used to work in cheap dime-a-dance joints when she got started and that she was overfriendly with some of the clients when I took her under my tutelage at On Your Toes. All right?”
Talbott reached for his plate. I pushed his hand away.
“You’re lying,” I said, eating a couple of his fries.
“Me?” Talbott said, putting his left hand to his chest and once again looking at Astaire for help.
“I think Mr. Peters means you’ve told us a lie of omission,” said Astaire. “What you’ve told us may be true, but it wasn’t enough to hold Luna Martin up for blackmail.”
I nodded my approval of Astaire’s reading of the situation.
Talbott ran his tongue over his lower lip and then nervously chewed at it. I assumed this was an indication of deep thought.
“If I can get back to Seattle, my uncle-his name’s Jeff-owns some buildings. He’ll take me on as an apprentice janitor, a hundred a week, which is more than I ever made dancing.”
“There’s something telling in that,” said Astaire. “What will it take to get you to Seattle?”
“It’s not that I’m not grateful you two came along, but. . five hundred. That’ll keep me going for a while.”
I looked at Astaire and thought I saw a go-ahead behind his glasses.
“Three hundred, if the information is good,” I said.
Talbott nodded and said, after an elaborate sigh, “She was still seeing someone she met at the studio. After she got together with Forbes. From what Luna said, I think she was still seeing whoever it was right up to now. She said Forbes would definger her if he found out, and she’d be lucky if that was all he did to her. So, I figured when things got a little difficult for me, Luna might come up with enough to get me to Seattle. Is that so bad?”
“It’s blackmail,” I said. “And I think you’re still lying.”
Talbott reached for the plate again. I pushed his hand away again.
“Have a heart, here. The food’s getting cold.”
“Who was she seeing?” I asked.
“Not sure. I’ve got a guess. But I’m not sure. Look, let’s make it five hundred and I give you a list of all of Luna’s clients since she came to On Your Toes. Don’t worry. It’s not a long list.”
“Four hundred,” Astaire said.
Talbott shrugged his agreement and reached for the plate warily. I let him take it.
“I keep the books in my apartment,” said Twinkle-Toes. “Nice and neat. All in a row. Every payment. Every lesson date with a comment by the teacher. Five hundred and the book is yours, plus my best guess on who Luna was still seeing.” Talbott stuffed the hot dog in his mouth and took a big bite. His cheek expanded as he chewed and looked at us.
“Five hundred,” Astaire said.
The two women had finished their lunch and were advancing cautiously on our table. Astaire turned his head away.
“And we go to your apartment right after you finish eating,” I said. “You give us the book and your best guess and we drive you to the bus station.”
