Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye (29 page)

‘I will,’ I said.

‘You see to that, Cherokee,’ he said to Mandon.

‘I will,’ Mandon said.

I got up, lighting a cigarette. ‘Good night,’ I said.

Reece moved to the door to let us out.

‘You have a nice time with Holiday last night?’ I asked him at the door. He said nothing. ‘You ought to call her up. She’s got some information for you. Names and addresses and stuff. …’

We went out, down the hall. Mandon started to speak to me several times on the way out, but didn’t. We walked back down the stairs and into the lobby and into the street.

Highness was waiting for us in the car, and saw us approaching, but made no move to get out, made no move to even open the door without getting out.

‘Why don’t you teach that boy to get out and open the door?’ I said to Mandon.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, why don’t you stop making speeches?’ he said. He opened the door himself and Jinx and I got in the back seat and this time he got in with us. Highness looked at him, waiting for orders.

‘Where do you want to go?’ Mandon asked me.

‘Back to the apartment. To get Holiday,’ I said.

‘Holiday? For what?’

‘To celebrate. Some music. To celebrate her loyalty. Her great loyalty. …’

‘Back where we picked ’em up,’ Mandon said to Highness.

The black boy started the car and rolled it away.

‘You oughtn’t to be wasting your time on a party,’ Mandon said sarcastically. ‘You have some thinking to do.’

‘I’m in a cold sweat about it,’ I said. ‘I’m just worried sick about it. Whatevereverever shall I do?’

‘Let me tell you something, my friend. Webber’s no man to push around. …’

‘The castrated Colossus,’ I said.

‘One of these days you’re going to lay it on too thick.’

‘Am I?’ I said. ‘Cheer up.’ I said to Jinx, who was looking out of the window. ‘You didn’t know the guy wasn’t gonna shoot.’

‘You son-of-a-bitch …’ he said.

I laughed. ‘One of these days you’re gonna lay it on too thick,’ I said.

‘Am I?’ he said.

It was Henry Halstead’s orchestra. The music was sweet and not for my taste, but the tempo was fine for dancing. It was a dance orchestra, a hotel orchestra, and eight bars were all I needed to hear to know that it was better than most hotel orchestras. It used good harmonies and had a rhythm that fitted the rhythm of the human body. As we went in it was playing, ‘I’m Dancing with Tears in My Eyes,’ and the dance floor was crowded and the lights were low.

A captain took us to a table near the bandstand. It was too near. ‘Haven’t you got anything not quite so close to the music?’ I asked.

‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m very sorry. Later, perhaps …’

‘What about the loges up there?’ I asked. ‘What about a table up there?’

‘Sorry, sir,’ he said.

‘This’ll do,’ Mandon said.

The captain helped Holiday into her chair and Mandon and I sat down and the captain put big oversized menus in front of each of us as a bus boy crept in and started arranging the table.

‘We’ve had dinner,’ I said to the captain.

The bus boy started to pick up the napkins.

‘Leave the napkins,’ I said.

The bus boy looked at the captain, who nodded once, and then he put the napkins back and started pouring the water. The captain beckoned to a waiter and walked away.

‘I think I’ll have a club sandwich,’ Holiday said.

‘Club sandwich for the lady,’ I said to the waiter.

‘… and bourbon and Coca-cola,’ she said.

‘Bourbon and Coca-Cola?’ I said. ‘That’s the most depraved thing I ever heard of…’

‘It’s what I want,’ she said.

‘And tonight it’s what you’ll get too,’ I said. ‘Bourbon and Coca-cola for the lady,’ I said to the waiter.

‘What for you, sir?’ the waiter asked me.

‘Cognac,’ I said. ‘Would you like food?’ I said to Mandon.

‘Coffee,’ Mandon said.

The waiter nodded.

‘Try to make that cognac Delamain,’ I said.

‘Delamain, yes, sir,’ the waiter said.

Mandon looked around. ‘That’s good music,’ he said.

‘Cherokee’s a musician himself,’ I said to Holiday.

‘Are you?’ she asked.

‘Not exactly…’

‘He is too,’ I said. ‘He’s a drummer. You ought to see the drummer’s outfit he’s got in his room.’

‘That was a fee,’ Mandon said, smiling. ‘Chap gave me that as a fee…’

I looked at Holiday. In the glow of the little table light she had a nice quality in her face, the kind of quality that went with gingham aprons and market baskets and general stores and streets lined with elms: a sweet thing, a one-man girl. Well… Margaret Dobson was pretty far in the past now, only a laceration on my memory, and only Holiday was left. Holiday, the Loyal – at least when you were with her…

‘Would you like to dance?’ I asked.

She nodded.

‘Excuse us, Cherokee?’

‘Go ahead,’ he said.

I got up and helped her up and followed her to the dance floor. We began dancing, keeping to the edge of the dance floor, near the ringside tables. She was a good dancer. She vibrated sympathetically.

‘You’re a good dancer,’ I said.

Thank you,’ she said in a pleased voice. ‘So are you.’

‘I used to …’ I said, and then I caught myself and stopped.

I was about to say that I used to play in an orchestra.

She took her head off my shoulder and looked at me. ‘You used to what?’ she said.

‘I used to go to a lot of dances,’ I said.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘So did I.’

We moved around to the edge of the crowd, picking our spots. She was better than good. She was an excellent dancer.

‘This is swell…’ she said.

‘It’s only the beginning,’ I said.

‘Too bad Jinx couldn’t come,’ she said.

‘Why is it too bad?’

‘Well – him staying there in that apartment. I know what that’s like…’

‘It’s his own fault. Don’t squander your sympathy on him.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Don’t worry about him then.’

‘I’m not worried about him.’

I’m worried about him, I thought. I’m worried about you too. ‘He’s still sore about the money I spent for these clothes. He thinks I’m holding out on him. He’s a sore-head. Don’t spoil the party by talking about him …’

‘What happened with Webber? Is everything all right?’

‘With me handling it? Don’t be silly.’

‘I’m Dancing with Tears in my Eyes’ ended, and there was a riff, and a lot of applause and the orchestra wound up that set of numbers and the dancers started back to their tables.

I took Holiday’s arm and threaded her through the people. She was happy and gay. She laughed softly, patting the back of my hand which held her arm. I smiled at her and squeezed her arm a little. But she wasn’t fooling me this time…

The drinks were on the table. Mandon already had drunk some of his coffee.

‘I’m glad to see you didn’t let your coffee get cold,’ I said. ‘Nothing worse than cold coffee …’

‘I didn’t know how long you’d be,’ he said, making no effort to rise and assist Holiday, not even thinking about it. How could I expect the black boy to have manners when the master himself had none?

I helped Holiday into the chair and sat down myself and picked up the cognac

‘Happy days …’ I said.

Mandon only nodded sourly, but Holiday toasted with me. I took a sip of the cognac and looked around for the waiter, beckoning with my hand.

‘Isn’t it the proper vintage?’ Mandon asked.

‘It isn’t even the proper cognac,’ I said.

‘Yes, sir,’ said the waiter.

‘I asked for Delamain cognac,’ I said.

‘That
is
Delamain, sir…’

‘It’s Martell,’ I said. ‘Bring me Delamain.’

‘Begging your pardon, sir…’

‘Please, let’s not argue about it…’

‘Yes, sir, I’ll change it,’ he said stiffly, moving away with the glass.

Mandon looked at me superciliously. He wasn’t annoyed now; he was amused.

‘What the hell…’ I said. ‘I’m all dressed up and in a first-class place. Why can’t I have what I’m paying for?’

‘You’re sure you know what you want?’

‘That, I am sure of,’ I said. ‘How’s that fantastic thing you’re drinking?’ I asked Holiday.

‘Good. Taste it…’

I tasted it. It was treacly and sickening. ‘It’s pretty ugh,’ I said. ‘Where’d you learn to drink that stuff?’

‘In Texas. I lived down there for a couple of years. We used to drink this at ball games. We’d pour half the coke out of the bottles and fill ’em with bourbon and take ’em to the ball games with us. And along about the sixth inning we wouldn’t be sure whether we were at a ball game or out flying a kite…’

‘I should think not,’ I said. ‘How’d you ever happen to wind up in Texas?’

‘I fell in love with a sports writer. I went down there to marry him.’

‘I didn’t know you were ever married,’ I said.

‘I wasn’t. Between working and sleeping with every woman in town, he never had time to marry me. All he used me for was a crying towel. Funny guy, but wonderful. A genius.’

‘Whatever happened to him?’

‘He went to Hollywood, I think. He’s a movie extra or something.’

‘Does this bore you?’ I asked Mandon.

‘I’m hanging on every last word,’ he said.

The waiter came with another glass of cognac. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘The other
was
Martell.’ He seemed more respectful now. The change in his manner was plainly noticeable. ‘This is Delamain, sir,’ he said.

I looked at Mandon and smiled, inhaling the cognac. I took a sip. This was Delamain.

‘Is that all right, sir?’ the waiter asked.

‘It’s better than that,’ I said. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’

‘Thank
you,
sir,’ he said, moving away.

‘Forgive my smugness,’ I said to Mandon.

‘So…’ he said. ‘In addition to other things, you’re also a connoisseur…’

‘Please, Cherokee,’ I said. ‘I’m trying very hard to be modest. Don’t start flattering me. I’ll unfold like a rose.’

He grunted and took a swallow of coffee, and I sipped my cognac, smiling at Holiday, who was sipping her bourbon and Coca-cola, and then the idea hit me: it rolled right out of nowhere, over the heads of the people sitting at the tables and hit me, and I knew that the question of what to do with those four bodies and the second-hand Buick was solved.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, putting down the drink, getting up. Holiday and Mandon were too surprised to say anything.

I went into the lobby and asked a bellboy where the telephone was. He pointed it out and I got five nickels from the clerk at the desk and went into the booth and looked up Mason’s Garage. I dialled the number and a voice answered and I asked for Mason. ‘He ain’t here,’ the guy at the other end said. ‘You know where he is?’ I asked. ‘Naw, I don’t. Who is this?’ ‘This is Paul Murphy,’ I said. ‘Who is this? Is this Nelse?’ ‘Yeah, this is Nelse.’ ‘Nelse, I’m the guy who had the Zephyr remember?’ ‘Yeah, I remember.’ ‘You got any idea where Mason might be?’ ‘Naw, I haven’t…’ ‘Can you let me have his home number?’ ‘Yeah. It’s A-R six one eight one two –’ ‘A-R six one eight one two,’ I said. ‘That’s right…’ ‘Thanks, Nelse…’

I hung up and dialled AR 6-1812. There was no answer. I let it ring seven or eight times and there still was no answer.

I hung up and called the garage again. Nelse answered. ‘Nelse,’ I said, ‘there was no answer at Mason’s number. You got any idea where he might be?’ ‘Naw, I haven’t,’ he said. ‘Do you ever hear from him at night? Does he ever call in?’ I asked. ‘Naw. Very seldom. There’s a joint you might try. The Persian Cat. He might be there…’ ‘Thanks,’ I said.

I hung up and looked in the book for the number of The Persian Cat and called that. They answered right away, a woman, and the noise of music and people talking came through the receiver. ‘Is Mister Vic Mason there?’ I asked. ‘Who?’ she said. ‘Mister Vic Mason? You know him? Club-footed guy…’ ‘Yes, I know him, but I couldn’t tell you whether he’s here or not…’ ‘Will you ask the headwaiter?’ ‘We don’t have a headwaiter. …’ ‘You got a doorman?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Will you ask him?’ ‘Hold the phone…’ she said wearily. I could hear her speaking to someone and in a minute a man’s voice said: ‘Yeah? This is the doorman…’ ‘I’m trying to locate Vic Mason,’ I said. ‘Do you know him?’ ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I know him.’ ‘Is he there.’ ‘Haven’t seen him tonight…’ ‘Does he usually come there at nights?’ I asked. ‘Yeah, pretty often’ ‘You think he’ll come tonight?’ ‘I don’t know. …’ he said. ‘Well, thanks,’ I said.

I hung up and went back to the table. Holiday and Cherokee weren’t there. The orchestra was back on the stand, playing ‘Body and Soul,’ and the floor was again filled with dancers, and, telling myself that they too were dancing, and not thinking any more about it, I sat down, picking up the cognac, waiting for them to return so we could leave for The Persian Cat.

The waiter eased his hand over my shoulder and laid a check in front of me on the table. The lady and the gentleman said to give you this, sir…’ he said.

‘Where are they?’ I asked.

‘They’ve gone, sir…’

‘Gone where?’

‘They didn’t say, sir...’

‘You mean gone for good?’

‘That was my impression, sir. They left in quite a hurry. …’

‘Well, I’ll be goddamned,’ I said.

‘They said you would be happy to pay the check …’

‘I’ll not be happy to pay it, but I’ll pay it,’ I said.

I took a ten-dollar bill out of my pocket and laid it on the check. ‘Will that handle it?’

‘Oh, yes, sir. Thank you very much …’

I tossed off the rest of the cognac and got up and went out, through the lobby on to the pavement, up to the liveried doorman, a man who made a living opening doors.

‘Did a middle-aged guy with a good-looking girl just come out? Little guy with big eyebrows? They were in a green Chrysler sedan with a colored boy driving?’

‘The party you arrived with?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘They left a few minutes ago.’

‘Did you hear where they were going?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Call me a cab will you?’ I said.

He blew a whistle that made noise and gestured with a white-gloved hand and a taxi-cab glided to a stop by the marquee.