Corky took Fats back, started down the stairs. “And what’ll you do then?”
Peg shrugged. “Whatever.”
Corky descended through the ensuing silence. He moved slowly down, then turned at the bottom, nodded thanks, turned, headed for the front door. He had his hand almost to the knob when Peggy said, “Hey you wouldn’t want any coffee or anything?”
“Thank God,” Fats replied. “I was just about to invite you to ask us.”
“I’d like that a lot,” Corky told her.
“Have you even eaten supper?”
Corky shook his head.
“I just know I’ve got a bottle of wine around someplace.”
“Terrific,” Corky said. “Let me just get my stuff down to the cabin and—”
“—stuff?” Fats said. “What stuff are you talking about? There’s mostly me and I want to stay.”
“Quick shower and I’ll be up.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen slaving.” She waved.
He returned it, then headed on out the door. He looked around, hesitated till he found the path, then hurried on down toward his cabin.
“She hugged me,” Fats said.
“I saw.”
“I suspect she found me irresistible.”
“Don’t we all.”
“I wonder why she isn’t married?”
“How do you know she isn’t married?”
“Because, schmucko, if you weren’t so unobservant you’d have noticed she didn’t have no ring on.”
Corky shrugged. He continued on in the moonlight until Fats screamed “Christ!” as the giant cat leaped out onto the path, the bloody remains of a headless bird in her mouth.
“Say hello to Sherlock,” Corky said.
The cat dropped the bird and was gone.
“Look at that—Jesus.”
“I think we were just made a peace offering.” Corky slowed, studying the carcass. “Sparrow?”
“Who cares, let’s go, let’s go.” Corky stepped over the bird and picked up his pace till he got to the cabin. Then he put Fats in the overstuffed chair, showered. Quickly, he dried himself, put on a different shirt, took his time combing his hair. Then he casually tossed his jacket over one shoulder, headed for the door.
“Question.” From Fats.
Corky waited.
“How come we came here? I don’t mean the Cats-kills, I mean this particular hot spot, Caesar’s Palace transplanted to the shores of Lake Melody.”
Corky shrugged. “No reason. Impulse. Luck. Fluke.”
“Good,” Fats said. “Then there’s really no reason for our sticking around long.”
“ ’Course not.”
“Make damn sure you lock that door, huh?”
“Why?”
“Because, schmucko, I don’t want that beast getting its claws into me.”
Corky got the key. “Whatever you want.” He started for the door again.
This time Fats said, “How long you gonna be?”
Corky shrugged. “Depends.”
“You could be a little more specific.”
“I don’t think late.”
“That’s also good.”
“Why?” Corky asked.
“If you were late, old Fats might start getting jealous …”
Long beat.
“… and we wouldn’t want that.”
A longer one.
“… would we now …”
4
“You never really told why you were here.”
Corky answered, “The truth, I guess, is I’m hiding.”
She looked at him. They were finishing dinner in the living room where she’d set up a card table by the fire. At first, it had been too hot, but as the meal went on, the fire softened, and they kept moving closer and closer, table, wine bucket, folding chairs. “From?”
“I just have to get my head on straight about a few things.”
She nodded, took out the wine bottle. “I don’t think you’re supposed to chill it when it’s red, but I figured the bucket added the proper note of elegance. When you entertain a lot, you learn little touches can really add up.” She started to pour. “I was being funny,” she said. “About my entertaining.”
“It’s very good wine.”
“Gallo Hearty Burgundy. Won lots of blind tastings against those higher-priced French imports.”
“I’m not really into wine much.”
“When you run a fancy resort, you have to keep track of the trends,” Peg told him. “Your head seems on pretty straight to me.”
“I’ve been acting weird, believe me.”
“If you say so.”
“See I thought I was having an argument with my agent about a matter of principle. But earlier today, I was walking around the lake and I realized I’d been b.s.ing myself. It’s the future’s really got me scared. See, I guess I’ve got an outside chance at making it big, and I’m not sure I want to take it.”
“I guess you are a little weird.”
“Nobody’s arguing with you about that. But there’s a lot of hassling that goes along with success.”
She nodded. “Should we eat at Sardi’s or ‘21’? Should we hit the opera or the dance? Should I switch to Halston or stay faithful to Balenciaga? Could be murder.”
“I’m a private person,” Corky said.
“And if you make it, you think they’ll find out all your secrets?”
Corky smiled.
“More?” She pointed to their plates.
“Thanks, I’m stuffed, it was delicious.”
“I don’t like to sound conceited, but anything Swanson freezes, I can thaw. For dessert there’s Miss Lee’s brownies or Mrs. Smith’s pie.” She smiled. “Years ago, Ronnie told me, ‘Whenever possible, Birdseye.’ ” She stood up, reached for the plates. She was wearing a white satin blouse now, unbuttoned at the throat, and just the start of her breasts was occasionally visible in the firelight.
“Maybe dessert later, if that’s okay.”
“Whatever.” She took their plates and started for the kitchen, concentrating on being careful not to spill, so Corky’s “you’re really beautiful,” took her by surprise. “I’m not,” she said before she said, “I only wish I was,” followed by “but” and then she turned. “You think so?” She shook her head, remembering. “Hey that’s right, I was always pretty for you.”
“I didn’t say you were pretty.”
“Whatever.” She finished her trip to the kitchen and called, “You didn’t pick up on Ronnie.”
“Is he important?”
“Mate. Consort. Spouse. I’m very big on enlarging my vocabulary.”
“Are you very big on Ronnie?”
She came back. “How come you ask?”
He pointed to her hand. “No ring.”
“We’re separated as of this moment. We separate about every moon phase. It hasn’t been your everyday Debbie Reynolds romance.”
“Where is he now?”
Peg shrugged. “Humping some local beauty, I expect. I don’t know where he is, but he’ll be back tonight or a week from tonight or in between or after.” She stopped by the couch. “You even remember who I’m talking about? Ronnie? ‘Duke’?”
“I always figured you’d marry him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, just did, does he still look like Elvis Presley?”
The question sideswiped her. She managed an “Oh-mi—” before she sank to the sofa, put her head to the cushions and wept.
Corky hurried over, sat down, reached out, almost touched her dark blonde hair, got up, hurried back to the table, brought her wineglass over. “Here,” he said. “Hearty Burgundy. Very medicinal.”
She continued to cry.
Corky sat there beside her. Again he reached out for her hair.
… Peggy Ann Snow
Peggy Ann—
He brought his hand back, made it go to his lap, kept it there.
Peg got up, kept her head turned a
way as she ran to the bathroom, closed the door. When she came out a few minutes later, she’d washed her face hard, scrubbed it, all makeup gone. “Admit it,” she said, “now I’m beautiful.”
“Little moist maybe.”
She sat down again, began talking like Emily Post. “ ‘Whenever the party shows signs of winding down, a quick burst of hysteria from the hostess is a sure way to get things giddy again.’ ” She looked at Corky. “Hey I’m sorry.”
“You don’t remember high school much I guess.”
She shook her head. “Never think of those days.”
“Not the cheerleading or anything; all the boys?”
“It’s like it could have happened to somebody else.”
“Thank God I didn’t mention Pat Boone, you’d have really come unglued.”
Peg thought that was funny. “You wanna know something crazy?” she asked after she was done laughing. “You’re different when you’re not working.”
“What do you mean?”
“Doing your act. Like before with Fats. You are different when he’s not around and that’s the truth.”
“You’re very perceptive—you want to know something big league crazy, it’s this: Fats does most of his own lines.”
“I don’t get that.”
“It’s like an acting exercise: ‘make believe you’re a tree.’ Only I make believe I’m Fats. I do it all the time. Not on the bus or in Grand Central Station—people might run for a straightjacket. But when I’m rehearsing, if I get stuck for a joke or an insult, I just call on old Fats.”
“And it works?”
“He’s been infuckingfallible most of the time,” Corky said, doing Fats.
“I wish I was talented,” Peggy said.
“I don’t know if I’m so talented,” Corky told her. “I think I’m a little flaky if you want to know the truth.”
Peg stood up and smiled. “You always used to do that.”
“What?”
“Put yourself down. Why do you think that is?”
Corky shrugged, watched her empty the wine bottle into her glass. “We’ll split this last, okay? No—tell you what—I’ll send the sommelier—pretty impressive, huh?—I think I’ve got another Gallo job, it hasn’t been breathing but let’s open it and live.”
Corky didn’t know what to say.
“I’m not trying to get you drunk, don’t worry.”
Corky smiled. “I really oughtta be getting back.”
“You have to take the sitter home, is that it?”
“It’s been kind of a wild day; I’m beat.”
“Sure?”
Corky stood, stretched. “I ought to get back.”
“Fats doesn’t like being alone?”
Corky laughed. “Ya got me.”
She walked him to the door, kissed him. Quickly. Up on tiptoe, lips to cheek, no big deal.
Still, Corky didn’t mind it a bit. He waited outside a moment after she closed the door, almost knocked, turned, hurried back to the cabin and had the door half unlocked when Fats asked, “How was the orgy?” from the overstuffed chair.
“Oh stop it.” Corky closed the door behind him.
“What was it, a fifty course meal? You sure didn’t break your ass getting back here.”
“I could have stayed longer!”
“Ohh-hoo-hoo—stepped on a corn again.”
Corky started getting undressed.
“She got the hots for you?”
“You will be thrilled to learn that the high point of the evening was when I reduced her to tears.”
“Hey schmucko, attaway.”
Corky finished undressing, went into the bathroom.
Distant: “Hey, when are we bugging out of here?”
Corky said, “I don’t know, haven’t given it all that much thought. Tomorrow, the day after.”
“Well I’m a city boy, the sooner the quicker.”
Corky closed the door, closed his eyes.
… Peggy Ann Snow
Peggy Ann Snow
Please let me fol—
Muffled: “Hey, what’d you close the door for?”
“I’m pissing, do you mind?”
“Ooh-hoo-hoo; dainty, ain’t he?”
Corky peed, washed, brushed his teeth. He walked back into the bedroom, turned off the lights, got into bed, lay there.
“That’s it, huh?—no recap of the evening?”
“Nothing happened—no—not totally true—she pecked me on the cheek when I left.”
“Was it a French peck? Were her lips open?”
Corky laughed. “A French peck is a funny idea.”
“Just don’t you ever forget who the real talent is.”
Corky rolled over and faced the wall.
“ ’Night,” from Fats.
Corky grunted, shut his eyes.
… Peggy
“—are you thinking of her?”
“What?”
“The truth.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“You were.”
“Bullshit.”
“And in the bathroom too—that’s why you closed the door—”
“—for chrissakes stop!”
Pause. Then, softer: “You’re not lying?”
“I don’t. Not to you. Have I ever?”
Long pause. “I sound like a fucking fishwife, don’t I?”
“You said it, I didn’t”
“I don’t know what’s with me today.”
“It’s all this fresh air most likely.”
“Sleep well, Laddie. And I’m sorry.”
Corky tried a snore. Another.
Nothing from Fats.
… Peggy Ann Snow …
… Peggy Ann Snow …
Please-Please-Please! …
5
Peg happened to be looking at her watch at the time, so she knew it was precisely at 3:35 the following afternoon that Corky began to behave, for want of a better word, crazy.
“Began” wasn’t really it. His behavior had been growing erratic for a while earlier, only she had chosen not to pay attention.
Mistake.
But the day had begun so well. First contact came mid-morning, with a knock on the front door. She’d gone to answer it, asking “who?” all the time knowing Corky was the one. Only there was no reply. She called again, “Yes?” and still silence.
Now, a little edgy. There was a tiny hole in the door, a protective device through which you could see who was standing there without opening. She peeked out.
No one was standing there. It was empty space.
But someone was knocking at the door again.
If it had been midnight, she would have been scared. Daylight was courage-making, so she said “Not funny” and threw open the door.
Only it was. Fats was sitting way down on the step, holding a bunch of fresh-picked weeds in his hand. His lips didn’t move, but his voice came from around the corner of the house, saying “Roses for you, my dear.”
Corky stepped into view. “He insisted on giving you those; he thinks they’re roses.” He picked Fats up.
“They are roses, schmucko.”
“Humor him,” Corky whispered. “It’s best; he’s scratchy before his morning coffee.”
“Thank you,” Peg said, taking the weeds.
“ ‘Before my morning coffee,’ ” Fats said with undisguised emphasis.
“I’m sorry—sometimes I’m slow—would you by any chance like some instant?”
“I hadn’t thought of it till now,” Fats told her. “But why not, why not.” They followed her into the house. “You know,” Fats explained, “if you plant those carefully, they grow into oak trees—”
“—jerk, you’re thinking of acorns,” Corky said.
Fats shook his head. “Life’s not so simple in the country.”
“You’re pretty simple in the country,” Corky said.
“A joke, listen to that—schmucko made a funny, wonders must be ceasing.”
&n
bsp; They went into the kitchen and Peg managed to get the water boiled without once coming close to burning herself.
All the earmarks of a good day.
They chatted a lot through coffee, mostly just her and Corky, with occasionally Fats throwing in a zinger, but Corky didn’t really need too much help, he was kind of on, not so quiet, not so shy.
They split when coffee cooled, Corky taking Fats back to the cabin to work on routines or whatever, but not before she’d invited him up for lunch if he wanted. And he seemed to.
But that meant there had to be lunch, which meant the trip into Normandy. She bought some luncheon meat, put it back, picked up some cold roast beef instead, put that back and decided to risk a chef’s salad. And in case he wanted dinner, a couple of steaks, and frozen peas and nice frozen fries to go along. She stopped at Baskin-Robbins so the brownies and the pie could both be a la mode, in case he liked it that way, always assuming, of course, he was even there at all.
Lunch and supper cared for, she was on her way back before she did a U (illegal) and headed for the liquor store. She had enough for a bottle of Scotch and three bottles of a nice French wine. That gave her the idea for French bread, so back she went to the market, and got a loaf that was two feet long, a waste, but if he was there and if he was hungry, it would go, assuming, of course, he liked French bread at all.
What with one thing and another shopping took a while. She didn’t get back to the cabins till quarter of one, didn’t call Corky till half past. Lunch was successful, and so was the wine. They finished an entire bottle just before three.
Just before three was when the magic began.
She was the one who began it. She could not remember feeling that good that early in she didn’t want to think how long, and she’d always loved tricks, so she asked him if he’d brought any.
“I don’t do tricks.”
“But you’re a magician.”
“Yeah, but, I don’t know, tricks are like when I set up something—a fake deck of cards or a box with a false lid. It means some kind of secret preparation no one’s supposed to know about. I don’t work that way.”
“You use whatever’s available?”
Corky nodded. “In a club I have to use my own stuff because people just don’t walk around with decks of cards.”