An Evil Guest (17 page)

Reis said, “I’d much rather talk about you.”

“We are. Herbie and I went to see the breeder, and he wanted to know if we had a fenced yard. We said no, we lived in an apartment, but we’d walk the dog twice a day. He wouldn’t sell to us. Herbie offered him more than he’d been asking but he still wouldn’t sell. So this is about me after all. Do you get it now?”

“I believe I do. Chase has a fenced yard.”

“Wrong!” Cassie shook her head. “He hasn’t bought me. He hasn’t even tried to.”

“He gave you twenty thousand.”

“Not to buy me. To hire me. Want a truffle, Wally? They’re really delicious.”

“Thank you, but no. Have you tried the green goddess dressing yet?”

“You know, I haven’t. I’ve been too busy with the chicken. And his truffles. I will.”

She did.

“You’re right, Wally. I like it. I like it a lot. I guess it’s the taste of money.”

“I thought you would. You say Chase has hired you. Would it be possible for me to hire you as well?”

While chewing salad, Cassie nodded.

“In that case, we ought to talk about salary and terms of employment.”

“Huh uh.” She swallowed. “You already have. I’ve signed to play Mariah, remember?”

“Are you saying you’ll keep an eye on Chase for me without asking more money?”

“Within limits. What would you like me to do?”

“You might begin by telling me what you’re doing for Chase.”

“Come on, Wally! You’re smarter than that.” Cassie held out her glass.

He poured. “I’m not as sharp as you may think. What is it?”

“I’m having dinner with you.”

“On Chase’s instructions?”

“Kind of.”

“He wishes you to cultivate me.”

“Exactly. See there? I knew you’d get it. And why shouldn’t I? You’re an attractive man, rich and maybe ten years older than I am, which I like. Herbie was younger than I was, and a little bit of that goes one heck of a long way. The man should be older than the woman is what Mom used to say, and I always thought buckshot.” Cassie belched. “It took the first third of my life and another bad marriage for me to find out Mom was dead-on. Excuse me. I’ve been eating too fast.”

“So have I.” Reis laid down his fork. “Where is Chase now?”

“You’d have to sweeten the pot quite a bit for that if I knew. I don’t, though, so you can have it for free.”

“He was the subject of the note I found in your apartment, wasn’t he?”

“How would I know?”

“You’ll agree that it seems likely?”

Slowly, Cassie nodded. “Sharon’s been covering the story, so it was probably something somebody’d passed to her. He’s been shot? That’s what I heard. Shot wounded, I mean. Not shot dead.”

Rosenquist nodded.

“He hasn’t been in contact . . .” Cassie’s fork conveyed a sliver of meat to her mouth; she chewed it reflectively.

“What is it?”

“I told you I had a lot of people at my place today. Which I did. Margaret, Sharon, and a couple others. The phone rang and I didn’t answer it. A lot was going on.”

“I understand.”

“That was you, and you left a message on my machine. What do they feed these chickens that makes them so good?”

“I’ll find out and let you know. Go on with what you were saying.”

“Right after that, the phone rang again. Was that you, too?”

“No. More wine?”

Cassie accepted another glass. “I didn’t answer that one, either. I unplugged the phone instead. That could have been . . .
Up!
Excuse me. Gid.
Dr. Gideon Chase. I’ve been trying to phone him, Wally, and that could have been him. I never thought.”

S
HE
had clung to his arm while they left Rusterman’s, having found that she was none too steady. Now, as the white limousine glided along Arbor Boulevard, Rosenquist whispered, “I’m going to win you, Cassie. I doubt that you believe me, but you’ll see. When I first heard of you, I wanted to find and destroy you. It was to be an exhibition of my power, something to frighten Chase—to frighten him into my camp if possible. Almost at once I realized you were worth a hundred Chases.”

She smiled, not unkindly. “This is very flattering, Wally.”

“I no longer want to destroy you. I want to win you—I, alone, out of all the world. I want to feel the envy of every man who sees us together, as I did tonight. I want to dress you in diamonds. When I was younger, I wanted to own an island. An island with beaches and palm trees where I would reign as king.”

Something almost mystical had crept into Reis’s voice. “I have that island now, but I’ve seen a better one. A blue isle in a sea of black. I fight for it every day, and I’ll win. With a green goddess at my side.”

He saw her to her door; she kissed him there, pressing herself against him, and her kiss was long and deep. When they parted she whispered, “I’ll win
you
, Billyboy. I know you don’t think so, but I will. Just watch.”

VOLCANO GLOWS WITH PROMISE

Dating the Volcano God
kicked off the fall season at the Majestic. Rev. Brownlea and his long-suffering sister were visibly nervous as they discussed what effect the family’s move from Enterprise, Kansas, to the South Pacific might have on the reverend’s daughter. The audience was nervous, too, and your intrepid reporter made a mental note: “This volcano has DISASTER stamped all over it.”

After three minutes that seemed more like ten, the daughter appeared in the form of Cassie Casey, an auburn-haired actress about whom I have had good reports. As she floated onstage, the audience fell deathly quiet. All of us were looking at her—“staring” might be a better word—and I doubt that there was even one among us who could have said why.

She spoke, and the plywood tree outside the Brownleas’ window had
become a real palm; an intangible breeze carried the scent of tropical blossoms. There is such a thing as magic, no matter what the materialists may say.

Most especially there can be magic in the theater.

T
HEY
had opened in Springfield. As Cassie stood in the wings waiting for her first entrance, Mickey the stage manager whispered, “You’re the only one who’s not nervous, Cassie. How do you do it?”

She grinned. “I’m jumpy as a cat. It’s just that I’m good at hiding it.”

The curtain rose, the Reverend Brownlea and his sister exchanged worries, and very soon after that it was time for her first song:

“It’s all been put behind me, left in Kansas far away.
Life started fresh and new when the sun came up today.
Out on the beach Sun’s trumpets rang the anthem of God’s torch,
While at my feet the waves came up like chickens on our porch . . .”

Behind Mariah, the grass house on a nameless tropical island was wholly real. Before Cassie, the men in pink and mauve dinner jackets and the women with hair-fantasies and pearls were equally real, her people, her audience to be loved and cherished. The song filled her and poured forth of its own volition. It filled the theater, too, although she did not know it—filled it, and a thousand hearts.

Brian Kean and Norma Peiper joined their voices to hers in the chorus. As the last note faded, Brian said, “We’ve been talking about you, Mariah, and your aunt Jane is—”

At which point the applause began.

M
ARGARET
recognized India’s knock and let her in.

“Congrats, Cassie. You were simply wonder-fuel. You set the damned place on fire.” An old wooden chair groaned beneath India’s weight.

Cassie handed Mariah’s long green gown to Margaret. “Congratulations to us all. Standing ovation? It doesn’t get much better than that.”

“Standing ovation for you when you came out to take your bow.”

“For us all, when we bowed at the end.”

“What did you think of our dear sailor?”

“Dean? He was all right.”

Margaret shook her head ever so slightly.

“His tenor isn’t what I was hoping for. His dancing isn’t what Pfeiffer was hoping for, either.”

“He’ll come around. Pfeiffer’s good, and . . .”

The telephone rang. Margaret answered it, and after a momentary silence handed it to Cassie. “I believe you had better talk to him, Miss Casey.”

Cassie said, “Hello?”

“This is Agent Martin, Ms. Casey. I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Ms. Casey. Really. We’ve been trying to catch up to you.”

“I’m afraid I can be difficult to reach. I’m sorry about that.”

“No offense, ma’am. We have an office at Third and Grand. I wonder if you could be there at ten tomorrow?”

Cassie took a deep breath. “No, Agent Martin. I couldn’t be. Not unless you tell me what it’s about.”

“Is there anyone there with you, Ms. Casey?”

“Our director and my dresser.”

“If they can overhear you, it might be better if you didn’t call me ‘agent.’ Better if you didn’t use my name, too.”

“All right, I won’t. But I’m not going to lie in bed tonight wondering what I’ve been accused of and who has accused me.” Another deep breath. “And I’m not coming to your office. Not voluntarily. If you want me down there, you’ll have to arrest me.”

“We will if we have to. I was hoping to have your cooperation as a good citizen.”

“I doubt that I am one, and I’m darned sure nobody’s going to think I am by the time you’re through with me.”

“Can I explain why I wanted you to come to our office?”

Cassie said, “Do it,” then covered the speaker with her free hand. “Will you wait, India? This could be important, but I’ll wind it up as fast as I can.”

India nodded.

Agent Martin was saying, “People don’t always believe us when we present our credentials. That happens often. I want you to come downtown so you can see for yourself that I’m who I say I am. I’ll still show you my badge and ID when we meet, even if you don’t.”

“Are you there now? In that office?”

“I am. Three of us are working late.”

“Something hot. I’ve got it.” Cassie hung up, and immediately dialed Directory Assistance, giving city and state. “I’d like the office of the FBI.”

Behind her, India stirred in her chair.

On her line, the phone rang once. “Agent Martin.”

“This is Cassie again. I believe you now.”

“Good. When can you meet with me?”

“I can’t.” Cassie’s grin was inward only. “You’ll have to catch me. I hear you’re good at that.”

She hung up. “Unplug it, will you, Margaret? He’s calling back. See if you can find the thing.”

“Yes, Miss Casey.” Margaret threw an anguished glance toward India and hurried to comply.

“The FBI wants you?” India asked.

“They want me to cooperate in an investigation. I didn’t ask what it was about because I wanted to talk to you. He probably wouldn’t have told me anyway.”

“I’d like to know.”

“You will, as soon as I do.” The chair in front of the dressing table was wire-backed, and rather too large for a doll’s house. Cassie sat, taking care not to miss the seat.

“Are you going to go along?” India sounded as worried as she looked.

“Depends. Maybe, if I like what he’s doing. Maybe even if I don’t like it, if he’s got some kind of an arm lock.”

“Tell me when you know. What I want to talk about . . . Cassie, my job’s to bring the rest of the cast up to your level.”

“You want the false humility?”

“Hell no. Here’s the straight shit. I can’t. Nobody could, not even if you helped. You dance like—I don’t know. Like you’d been starring with the Ballet Russe for the past three years. Dean stumbles around after you and looks ridiculous. I’ve had words with Pfeiffer already. He goes . . .” India shrugged and sighed like a vacuum cleaner. “So if you can do anything, please do.”

“I’ll try,” Cassie promised.

“That’s all I ask. Vince wants to ham it up. In his part that’s okay up to a point, but we’ve got to keep him on a short leash. You’re onstage and I’m not, so snarl at him anytime he gets out of control.”

“I’ll be your bitch, but I thought he was fine.”

“He was, tonight. He was maybe one-tenth as good as you were, and if I
could get the rest up to that I’d be a happy broad. Only he’ll be worse tomorrow night if we let him.”

“Norma was fine, too.”

“Norma was lousy. She was nervous until you came on, and after that she couldn’t stop smiling. Aunt Jane smiles once during the whole stinkin’ show. Once!”

When India had gone, Margaret said softly, “It didn’t really stink, Miss Casey. It was good. Everybody loved it. You had to do all those encores.”

“Oh, did I? Tell me about it.” Cassie kicked off her dancing shoes. “I’m so tired I may pass out.”

“T
HERE
are three critics here from New York tonight, Miss Casey. That’s what everybody says. The
Times, The New Yorker
, and Channel Something.” The gingham gown had been hung away as Margaret spoke. Cassie’s bra followed; it would be replaced by one that vanished at a distance of eight feet, save for plastic blossoms over her nipples.

Cassie said, “Full house. Did you notice?”

“I did, Miss Casey. Everybody did.”

“I keep looking for an empty seat down front. I haven’t seen one.”