The Road to Omaha (50 page)

Aaron Pinkus went into his brother-in-law’s office at the beach house and called his personal secretary, telling her to have Paddy Lafferty drive her out to Swampscott and to bring her notary seal. The gray-haired lady arrived, her eyes red and heavy-lidded, no doubt the results of some rampant flu, and proceeded to type out the two documents. They were ceremoniously signed, and as Aaron courteously led his obviously ill secretary to the front door, thanking her for her acceding to his needs despite her condition, the slightly unfocused woman asked, “Do you know someone named Bricky, Mr. Pinkus? He’s been asking for you.”

“Bricky?… Is there a last name?”

“I’m not sure I got it—it seemed to change.”

“You’re not well, my dear. I want you to take several days off, and I’ll have my doctor look in on you. Abraham forgive me, I
do
overwork you.”

“He was a very handsome young man. Shining dark hair, impeccably dressed—”

“Be careful now, watch your step.”

“He kept wanting to know where you were—”

“Easy now, there are two steps down to the flagstones.…
Paddy
, are you there?”

“Right here, boss!” came Lafferty’s reply from the circular drive as the chauffeur emerged from the shadows and ran up the path to the porch. “Y’know, I think she’s a bit under the weather, Mr. Pinkus.”

“It’s the flu, Paddy.”

“If you say so, sir.” Lafferty took the secretary, pulling her left arm around his shoulders as he helped her down toward the car.

“
Bricky is my darling, my darling, my darling
…!”
The words floated up in song, fading into the tall pines that bordered the circular drive. “… 
he’s the only boy for me—only boy for me
!”

Relieved, Aaron turned back to the front door, prepared to go inside, when he stopped, his head cocked in bewilderment.…
Bricky
?… Binky?… Binghamton
Aldershot
, otherwise known as
Binky
on the Cape, the nearest thing Boston had to an international financier, hiding behind the iron gates of his Beacon Hill bank?… Wasn’t there a nephew somewhere? A youngish womanizer with a similar nickname, whom the Aldershots kept on a tenuous financial tether, if only to keep the idiot from embarrassing the family.… No, it was
impossible
. His personal secretary of fifteen years was a mature woman, previously a novitiate who had turned away from her vows, opting for a more worldly world, but withal a woman deeply committed to her faith.
Ridiculous
. A coincidence. Pinkus opened the door and stepped into the foyer only to hear the telephone ring.

“
Okay
, Cyrus!” Sam Devereaux yelled into the phone. “Remember, he’s an
actor
, so don’t lose your temper, okay? Just bring him out here.…
What
? He wants a contract stipulating that he has star
billing
!… With who—
what
? His name in print … above and in equal size in type to that of the
title
? Holy shit!… What about money, has he made any demands there?… 
Nothing
, just his
billing
? Christ, write out whatever he wants and get him here!… A ‘run-of-the-play,’ no dismissal during rehearsals without full compensation? What the fuck does
that
mean?… I don’t know, either, but put it into his contract.”

An hour and twenty-two minutes later, the front door opened and the orange-shirted Gypsy with the long blue sash around his waist lunged into the foyer, balletically spinning until he reached the entrance to the huge living room, where the three attorneys and General MacKenzie Hawkins sat in a semicircle. All heads turned as Roman Z made his announcement.

“Beautiful,
beautiful
lady, and you gentlemen of—well,
adequate appearance. I now present to you Colonel Cypress, a man with the strength of a Mediterranean tree, who has an announcement.”

“
Enough about him
!” came the whisper, hissed from the dark foyer. “
It’s me, you bounder
!”

The enormous and embarrassed figure of the black mercenary appeared. “Hi, there, folks,” said Cyrus, as tongue-tied as a normally confident man could be. “I would like to introduce an artist who has appeared in many of the great Broadway shows of our time, whose brilliant reviews have been abash in our land—”

“
That’s ‘awash,’ you idiot
!”

“An actor of supreme depth and widespread perversity—”

“
Di—dye—versity, you ass
!”

“Hell, man, I’m doing the best I
can
—”

“
Long introductions, inadequately presented, kill an entrance. Get out of my way
!”

The tall, lean man swept down the short steps into the living room with a flair and an energy that belied his age. With gray, flowing hair, sharp features, and glaring eyes that bespoke a thousand such electric entrances on stage, he stunned the small group in front of him, as he had done with countless full houses in the past. His gaze settled upon Aaron Pinkus; he approached the attorney with a courtly bow.

“You have summoned me, sire, and I have obeyed. Your servant and boldest knight-errant, m’lord!”

“Why,
Henry
,” said Aaron, getting out of his chair and shaking hands with the actor. “That was just wonderful! It reminded me of when you did your one-man show for Shirley’s Hadassah, the excerpt from
The Student Prince
, I believe.”

“I don’t remember too many of the smaller—forgive me—my out-of-town performances, dear boy.… However, I think it must have been six and a half years ago roughly—on March twelfth, if I’m not mistaken, at two o’clock in the afternoon. I vaguely recall it, for I don’t believe I was in my best voice that day.”

“You certainly were, you were splendid.… Here, let me introduce you to my friends—”

“My C-sharp wasn’t full,” continued the actor, “but then the piano player was dreadful.… You were saying, Aaron?”

“My friends, I’d like you to meet them.”

“I certainly wish to, especially this adorable creature.” Sir Henry reached for Jennifer’s left hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes looking into hers as he gently kissed the back of her palm. “You make me immortal by your touch, sweet Helena.… Have you ever thought of a theatrical career?”

“No, but I once did a little modeling,” replied Redwing, not only caught off guard but modestly enjoying the moment.

“A step, dear child, merely a step, but in the right direction. Perhaps we should lunch one day. I give private lessons, the fees in certain cases, shall we say, dismissible.”

“She’s a lawyer, for God’s sake!” said Sam, not entirely sure why he was so adamant.

“That’s a terrible waste,” said the actor, slowly releasing the hand in his grip. “As the Bard put it in Henry Six, Two, ‘The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.’ … Not you, of course, Aaron, for you have the soul of an artist.”

“Yes, well, let me introduce you, Henry. The actress—the
attorney
—is Miss Redwing.”

“
Enchanté, mademoiselle
—”

“Before you maul her hand again, I’m Sam Devereaux, and I’m also an attorney.”

“Shakespeare had his insights—”

“And this gentleman in Indian attire is General MacKenzie Hawkins—”

“Oh,
you’re
the one!” exclaimed the performer, grabbing the Hawk’s hand and shaking it firmly. “I saw that film about you—how could you
stand
it? Didn’t you have any control over the casting, the script? My
God
, man, that jackass playing you should have worn lipstick!”

“I think he did,” said the general warily, but not unimpressed.

“Everyone,” interrupted Pinkus, “I want you to meet Henry Irving Sutton, as in England’s Sutton Place—his ancestral home—and frequently referred to in the newspapers
as Sir Henry Irving S., after the great Victorian actor to whom he’s often compared. An outstanding artist of the stage—”

“Who says?” said Sam petulantly.

“Small minds make for large doubters,” answered Henry Irving Sutton, looking with bemusement at Devereaux.

“Who said
that
, Felix the Cat?”

“No, it was a French playwright named Anouilh. I doubt you’ve heard of him.”

“Oh
yeah
? How about ‘There’s nothing left to do but scream!’ … 
Huh
? How about that?”

“
Antigone
, but your translation’s inaccurate.” Sutton turned to Hawkins. “General, do me a favor—I ask it as a former second lieutenant in the African
T O
, where I heard you speak many times, as often as not railing against Montgomery.”

“
You
were there?”

“Combat Intelligence, attached to OSS-Tobruk.”

“You boys were the
best
! You had those Krauts buffaloed in the big Sahara. They didn’t know where our tanks were!”

“Most of us were actors who could speak a little German. Really, we were overrated—it was so easy to portray soldiers dying of thirst and sputtering wrong information while going into comas. Actually, very simple.”

“You were in the enemy’s uniforms. You could have been
shot
!”

“Perhaps, but where do you get a chance to
play
such parts?”

“Well, I’ll be goddamned! Whatever you want, soldier, I’ll
do
it.”

“Screwed again,” mumbled Devereaux. “He does this to me all the time.”

“I want you to speak, General, preferably reciting something we both might know, say a piece of doggerel or a poem, or perhaps the words of a song, repeating whatever you like. Also, talk normally or shout, whatever’s natural.”

“Let’s see, now,” said the Hawk, squinting. “I’ve always been kinda partial to the old army standby, you know
the one. ‘Over hill, over dale, we will hit the
dustee trail
—’ ”

“Don’t
sing
, General, just talk it through,” ordered the actor, his facial expressions instantly parroting those of MacKenzie, sounds softly emerging as the old war-horse martially peeled off the words of “The Caissons Go Rolling Along.” Then, suddenly, as though the two voices of a roundelay were merged, one fading, the other surviving, Henry Irving Sutton was speaking alone, his vocal tone and cadences, his body gestures and facial contortions, nearly indistinguishable from the Hawk’s.

“
Goddamn
!” exclaimed the general, as bewildered as he was astonished.

“
Remarkable
, Henry!”

“Not bad, if I do say so.”

“You’re a
terrific
actor, Mr. Sutton!”

“Oh, no, dear child of Elysium,” protested Sir Henry Irving S. modestly. “That’s not acting, it’s merely mimicry, which any second-rate comic can do. You’re fooled by the gestures and the expressions as much as you are by the vocal intonations.… I explain this thoroughly in my private lessons. Lunch?”

“Why the hell didn’t they get
you
to play my part in that goddamn movie?”

“A dreadful agent,
mon général
, you have no idea what it’s like.… Picture an outstanding staff officer who is not permitted to show his mettle in battle because his so-called superior is afraid his organization will fall apart—in my case it was a steady salary from a soap.”

“I’d have the bastard
shot
!”

“I tried that. Fortunately, I missed.… Lunch, Miss Redwing?”

“I think we should get down to the business at hand,” said Pinkus firmly, gesturing at the chairs and the sofa for everyone to use. They did so, Sam rushing to sit between Jennifer and Sutton.

“Of course, Aaron,” agreed the actor, glaring at the interloper. “I merely wanted to assuage a small mind that apparently belongs in the Lesser Antilles, if you catch the mixed metaphor.”

“It’s singularly apparent, Kermit the Frog,” said Devereaux.

“
Sam
!”

“Okay, Jenny, I’m overreacting. I never do that in court.”

“
Business
?” Pinkus signaled Cyrus, who was purposely staying as far away from Henry Irving S. as possible, the ride out from Boston with the actor having tried his patience, if not his sanity. “Should your colleague join us?” asked Aaron.

“I’ll tell him everything he should know,” said Cyrus quietly, sitting down. “I’d like to keep this as simple as possible. Frankly, the combo of Roman Z and your new recruit doesn’t appear to be the most stable. I’ll handle it.”

“You have a fine deep voice, young man,” interrupted Sir Henry, obviously annoyed that he could not overhear Cyrus and the elderly attorney. “Have you ever sung ‘Ol’ Man River’?”

“Get off my case, man,” said the mercenary.

“No, I’m quite serious. A revival of
Showboat
—”

“Henry, my friend, all that can come later,” Aaron broke in, holding up both hands in dissuasion. “We haven’t much time.”

“Of course, dear boy, the curtain must go up.”

“As soon as possible,” concurred Cyrus. “Even tonight,
preferably
tonight, if we can.”

“How do you think we should proceed?” asked Jennifer.

“I can make contact with this so-called Nobel committee at that hotel as the General’s civilian aide,” answered the mercenary. “I’ve got decent clothes in my suitcase, but we’ve got to get something for Roman to wear.”

“My brother-in-law has a closet full of clothes and he’s roughly your colleague’s size—he lifts weights, even at his age. Also, Mrs. Lafferty’s an excellent seamstress—”

“Then that’s settled,” interrupted the impatient Cyrus. “We just have to try and find out who those clowns from
Air Force Two
really are and how to handle them.”

“I’ve already done that,” said MacKenzie Hawkins, relighting his mangled cigar.

“
What
?”

“
How
?”

“
When
?”

The tumult of stunned voices assaulted the Hawk, who merely raised his bushy eyebrows and blew a circle of smoke above his face.

“
Please
, General!” pressed Cyrus. “This is important. What did you
do
?”

“You lawyers and chemists think you’re so smart, but you’ve got damn short memories.”