Grimacing, Captain said, “I’m not some mark who can be conned into paying a fiver for an emerald bracelet made from bottle glass. Negotiations start with the one who wants what the other has.”
After studying Captain for perhaps a minute, as if somehow he could measure the depth of the man’s greed, Franklin said, “You walk out of here tonight, alone, before the midnight show, and we never see you again. Is that what I’m getting for my money?”
“That’s it—unless you want me to throw in an emerald bracelet to sweeten the bargain. Just don’t insult me with a low-ball offer. Whoever you are, however you got your money, you want to keep the tabloids and the rest of the press out of this as much for yourself as for the kid. Personally, I love the tabloids. That’s my kind of news, my kind of people. As far as I’m concerned, bring ’em on.”
“Thirty thousand dollars.” Franklin looked to his wife.
She nodded without hesitation, as if he’d said “ten dollars.”
I almost didn’t believe my ears. In those days, a cup of coffee cost but a nickel. When we were on tour, staying in a motel, Captain brought me food. Just last week, it was from a nearby Automat. Twonickels would open the little glass door so you could get a nice serving of macaroni and cheese. Three nickels would buy an egg-salad sandwich. Three for a slice of berry pie, two for banana cream.
Captain shook his head. “I’m thirty-eight years of age. I’d like to retire when I’m fifty. Speakeasy bookings already bring in solid money. Who knows how high the price goes if the kid and I can work out a permanent hitch-up with Buddy Beamer?”
“You’re pushing too hard,” Franklin said. “You’re playing your hand like some greenhorn who just learned poker yesterday.”
“Here’s the thing, Daddy Warbucks. I can take the little freak out of here, scoot across the state line, and keep on providing the people with much-needed entertainment in these hard times. You won’t ever find us. It’s a damn big country.”
“Thirty-five thousand,” Franklin said. “And that’s my limit.”
So much money. For that, I could have a little house, food, maybe eight or ten years of freedom from the stage.
Still on one knee in front of the vanity bench and holding my hand, Loretta gave no indication that taking a thirty-five-thousand-dollar hit concerned her. In fact, she smiled at me.
I was afraid to smile back at her. I don’t know exactly why. Like maybe a smile would tempt fate, and Captain would pull the knife that I knew he had, and everything would go dark from there.
“Here’s a thing to think about,” Captain suggested. “Say I take her out of here and quick across the state line. Say you’re crazy enough to try to find us, as self-righteous as you are. You probably have enough dough to hire detectives to start looking. So say one of them tracks us down, gets some kind of court order. What am I going to do then? I don’t have retirement money. My meal ticket is going to be taken from me. Maybe I’m set to do jail time. You put me in a corner like that, why wouldn’t I slit her throat just to spite you?”
“Forty thousand,” Loretta said. “If you won’t take that offer, I’ll slityourthroat. Some night you’ll go to dreamland and never wake up. Maybe they find you with your cut-out Adam’s apple jammed in your mouth, pig that you are, ready to be roasted for a luau.”
Well, that was sure something, the way she said it. She sounded as serious as a cold-blooded gangster. I learned much later that she was imitating a former vaudeville song-and-dance man, James Cagney, who was about to make it big inThe Public Enemy. I wasn’t scared of her because it wasn’t my throat she threatened to cut, but Captain stared at her the way he might have stared at a growling Doberman. After a silence, Captain seemed to decide he preferred not to have a dream cut short by the blade of a stiletto. “You’re crazy enough to pay up. But I’m sure as hell not taking a check.”
Franklin said, “I’ll drive back to LA and get the cash.”
“No banks are open on the weekend,” Captain said.
“Since Black Tuesday, we don’t trust banks. Sooner or later, there’s going to be a run on them.”
“I’ll stay here with Alida,” Loretta said as she sat beside me on the bench that served the vanity.
Consulting his wristwatch, Franklin said, “It’s a quarter past eight. I’ll put the pedal down hard, but I might not be back before the midnight curtain call.”
“The magician is on first,” Loretta reminded him. “That gives you another fifteen minutes or so. If management comes looking, Mr. Farnam and I will convince them she’s too sick to go on.”
“Or we could do one last show,” Captain suggested.
Loretta opened her purse and retrieved a small pistol. She put the handbag aside and held the pistol in her lap. She didn’t respond to Captain’s suggestion.
Six
Captain’s nose had swelled and acquired a purplish hue. He sat in his chair, hands on his thighs, eyes closed, like an immense toad contemplating a return to the swamp, where life had treated him better than it did here.
Prolonged and vigorous applause, filtering through the walls, sounded like rolling thunder rumbling into the city from far out at sea. After both shows the previous night, Buddy Beamer received a standing ovation. And now a third.
As the applause faded, the band launched into a lively number with an accelerating tempo intended to encourage the customers to vacate the premises so that the waiters and busboys could clear the tables and dress them for the nine o’clock seating.
Doors slammed, and the hallway grew quiet, and Captain opened his eyes. For some reason that could not have been innocent, he tried to start a conversation with Loretta. She would not respond.
After a while, the distant music of a lone piano meant Blue Mood was open for the second seating. When the band launched into mellow dance music, we knew that it was half past nine. Franklin had been gone for more than an hour, but it seemed much longer.
