MAGIC (13 page)

“Thank you,” Corky began, and as he took a few steps inside, he was prepared to say a good deal more, to apologize for being a bother, to—

“—
omigod, you brought Fats along,”
Peg cried with excitement.

Corky just stood there.

“And you thought Peg didn’t remember,” Fats said.

She looked at Corky. “You knew who I was too?”

Corky made a nod.

“Why didn’t you two at least grunt at each other or something?” Fats wanted to know.

“I don’t—I’m not really sure,” Corky stammered—“See, she was upstairs and I couldn’t really tell at first—there was the screen and the sun reflected off the glass—by the time I thought I knew, I figured she didn’t know who I was or she would have said something.”

“What’s your story?” Fats asked.

“It’s been so long,” Peg said; “and I watch every chance I get—I see a lot of television so I don’t think I’ve missed you once—I didn’t want to embarrass anybody in case …”

Fats shook his head. “We’re all so goddam sensitive I could whoopse.”

Peg started laughing. “He’s just as cute as on the tube.”

“Cute!” Fats said loudly. “Virile, yes; sexy, absolutely. ‘Cute’ is for Disney, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m really excited,” Peg said. “C’mon, c’mon,” and she closed the door. Then she looked at Corky for a moment. Neither of them said anything.

“The little old matchmaker—me,” Fats cut through.

Laughter.

Then: “Oh, can I hold him? Would that be all right?”

Corky hesitated.

“The answer is ‘lemme at her,’ ” Fats said.

“Be kind of careful,” Corky said.

“Promise.” Peggy took Fats with both hands. “He’s heavy,” she said, surprised.

“
Husky
, you thoughtless creature,” Fats said.

Peg looked at Corky. “His lips didn’t move.”

“That’s because you didn’t work my levers, baby.”

“What levers?” Peg asked.

Corky took Fats, laid him face down on a tabletop. “All a ventriloquist’s doll really is, is a large wooden head, heavy like you said, with a wooden pipe leading
down where the neck should be. There are levers on the pipe and when you work them, the dummy seems to come to life. At least, that’s the theory.” He pointed to Fats’ overalls, slit up the back. “All dolls are slit like that—so you can get your hand in to the levers. The rest of the body is mainly strong canvas bindings and stuffing.” He lifted Fats back into her arms. “Now try. Sit in a chair; might be better. Fats has extra levers, ’cause I’ve fixed him so he can smoke and cry, but don’t bother with those.”

Peg sat, took Fats, reached into the slit.

Fats began groaning sexually.

“Don’t mind him,” Corky said.

“Let me look at you,” Fats said.

“How do I do that?” Peg asked.

“That same pipe where the levers are—just turn it. See?”

Peg turned Fats’ head till their eyes met. “This is kind of fun.”

“Come wiz mee to zee Kazz-bah,” Fats said.

“I still can’t get his lips going.”

“Up a little,” Corky said.

She touched the right lever and Fats’ lips went up and down.

“You don’t know what life’s like till you’ve had your levers fondled by a beautiful girl. Hit the lever just up from your hand,” Fats told her.

She followed his instructions. His right eye winked at her.

Peg hugged Fats, both arms around him tight. Then she carefully took him, handed him back to Corky. “I really did enjoy that,” she said.

Corky took Fats, said, “Anytime.”

“Whisper,” Fats said. Corky brought him up close to his ear. “She’s very nice.”

“Thank you, Fats,” Peg said. She stood. “How do you
do
that? It’s really like he’s talking.”

“Illusion mostly. I just turn my head and look at
him when he shoots off his mouth, he does the same for me. You follow our eyes. Just illusion and practice is all.”

“But your lips don’t move.”

“Neither do yours. Seriously. Open your mouth about a quarter inch and keep your lips still and try saying ‘Hi Corky.’ ”

“Hi Corky.”

“See how easy? Now try ‘Bye Corky.’ ”

“ ‘Bye Corky,’ ” Peg said. Then: “My lips moved that time.”

“I know. On the ‘B.’ ‘B’ and ‘P’ and ‘M’ and ‘W’—they are the toughies. Give six months or so to each letter and you’ll be able to say ‘beep’ without moving your lips, big deal.”

“ ‘Wham’ is also very hard,” Fats said. “I went crazy till he got those right. ‘Wham-beep-wham-beep.’ If you’re an intellectual sex pervert like me, that can get kind of monotonous. ‘Pervert’ is also hard. Usually Corky chickens out and says ‘deviate.’ ”

“You should record all this,” Peg told him, starting upstairs. “I really mean it.”

“That’s an interesting idea, thanks.”

“Make a fortune, selling it to insomniacs,” Fats said. He starting intoning like a speech teacher. “The pebbles were moping because—”

“—enough outta you,” Corky said.

Peg gestured for them to follow. “Come get what you need.” They were all moving up when the scream came. Corky stopped. Peg continued on.

Again, from outside, the high pitched scream.

Peg looked down, smiled. “That’s just my big old cat,” she said. “Probably found a dead bird.”

“Probably
made
a dead bird,” Fats said.

“Sherlock isn’t any too friendly. I call him Sherlock because he’s always nosing into things. Loves poking around.” She led them along the second floor corridor, opened the large closet at the end. “Help yourself.”

Corky handed her Fats, moved into the large closet.
Most of its contents were in closed cardboard boxes. Corky pointed to them. “Shutting up for the winter?”

“Permanent. Trying to get it ready to sell. Not that there’s any mad rush on to buy the place. But the hope is that someone’ll think the property’s valuable, what with the lake and all.”

“Folks still around?”

“Till a couple of seasons ago—now they’ve got kind of a one bedroom condo near Lauderdale in Florida—I tried keeping the place going, gave it my best shot, but the winters are too hard to cut anymore.”

Corky took down some towels, several cakes of soap, an extra blanket. “You used to have students during the winter.”

“Sure. Married ones from that little college over the way. They closed it up this fall. That’s closed, we’re closed, most places like us are closed. Pretty soon I think they’ll paint a big sign in the sky: ‘Hey, everybody, the Catskills are closed.’ ”

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 …”

“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.

He brought his hand back, made it go to his lap, kept it there.

Peg got up, kept her head turned away 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.”