Daring Play (Dangerous Book 3)

by Romi Hart

  The college kids were a different set. The only ones to avoid were the nerd bunch. They wore all black, talked only about jazz history and drank the house wine, criticizing it bitterly. They were more frozen in their stares outside their circles of accomplishment than the Socialites.

  Maybe the Lamplight attracted me because it was different. I’d grown up on country music and rock and roll. I never learned much about theater or classics. I still didn’t get them, but the more I returned, the more I wanted to learn. It was like learning a new language or entering a foreign country.

  Maybe the Lamplight attracted me because the owner was so accommodating. I don’t think he really cared for the sports set, but he was the kind of person who weighed out whatever was good for business. I was good for business. When I appeared, so did my teammates, and so did our generous tips. So, did the curiosity of the audience that usually focused on who would make the list of music hall celebrities. Our appearance helped promote music hall favorites.

  At my request, Mr. Harrington had reserved the table closest to the side stage for me. It was an advantageous spot. Through the shadowy, half-closed door, I could see the performers dashing in and out of their rooms, discovering last minute needs and swearing they were nearly dead of panic.

  I saw some drag queen earlier in the evening running around screaming about nail polish. Boy, this is a wild scene indeed. Watching the drag queen go backstage and then come out to look at the crowd…I pushed my chair closer to the door, so I could hear the voices floating up from the shadows.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier. I’m nervous. This is a brand-new number and I’m worried I won’t be able to do it without breaking character. Maybe, I went too radical.”

  “Plus, he’s out there in the audience! You saw him, didn’t you?”

  “He doesn’t matter. All I’m worried about is how well this new number will go over.”

  Are they talking about me? I had to wonder.

  “Don’t worry, honey. It’s a classic. And I love the way you deliver it. It looks like the entire arts department from the university are out there tonight, so this is a major chance to show off your new material.”

  There were a few seconds of silence, then the curtains rose. I thought I had recognized the anxious female voice. I had seen her perform a few times before. What I noticed about this girl was that when she first started coming here, she had mainly been used as a back-up singer for the orchestra. Slowly though, she began doing solo spots. She was growing in popularity now, winning her own fan base. Cool. She was hot. Even with secondary billing, she attracted a select crowd, including the likes of me.

  I watched as she came out, wearing her boa and gloves that reached just past her elbow. The strapless bodice accentuated her bosom, but the skirt of the dress was long and flowing. “You know, I know that the rent is due,” she purred, sauntering out to the audience and pointing a finger to the center, then to the left and right. “Landlord’s gonna throw us out in the cold.”

  The music was sexy. It was meant for swinging hips and expressive hands. It was toned down from the exaggerated burlesque beat to something smoother and more seductive.

  She stepped down from the stage, moving among the audience, selecting men to sing in front of as though addressing them personally. She reached my table and took my tie, wrapping it in her fingers.

  “You’ll never have a bit of sense ‘till judgment day,” she rumbled deeply.

  She tossed the tie aside and sashayed back to the stage, her head high as she listed her lover’s shortcomings.

  The crowd ate it up. The whole house ate it up. She tingled with excitement when she went back on stage and then returned to her dressing room.

  I tossed off my drink and saluted the empty stage. “Cute. Very cute.”

  * * *

  When she returned to the floor at the end of the show to order her standard drink, she chose a spot at the bar close to my table. She surely knew I would notice her.

  She probably also knew I would try to ignore her. And that’s exactly what I did. I talked for a few minutes with my buddies and the collection of girls who always seemed to surround me.

  But yeah, my eyes kept wandering. I whispered to my roommate, Mike, to check out this Diana girl. He craned his neck to look at her, then laughed and shrugged. I patted him on the back, then swaggered over to the bar, my country strident doubt creating a study in contradictions within the tailor-made silk suit. She didn’t know me. Not a chance.

  “I thought you had forgotten about me,” I said.

  “First, I would have to have met you. Are you sure you’re not talking about somebody else?” she said.

  I laughed. Most girls tell me that my boyish, contagious laugh is one of my best features. “No, I’m pretty sure it was you. You singled me out in the audience.”

  “It was part of the act.”

  I tapped on the countertop with one hand, my fingers nervously following each other, then gestured for the bartender to refill the lady’s drink.

  “I’m sorry about your friend. Keri, was it? I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. She’s a band member, so I just thought she was into that sort of thing; groupies and all. I didn’t even sleep with her, you know.”

  “You did her a favor. You made her realize who her real friends were.”

  “It didn’t turn out so bad then, did it? Honestly, if I had known she was going to be uptight and weird, I never would have suggested she come back with us. But lots of girls don’t mind, you know.”

  She sipped her drink slowly, tasting the salt at the rim before answering me with venom. “You know what the problem is? That type of attitude went out with the high school cheerleading crowd. You’re trying to date the big girls now. We never signed up with the varsity team.”

  I laughed. “Maybe you don’t know what you’re missing, darling,” I said, drawing out the last word.

  “But my dear,” she answered with that deep, seductive voice. “I don’t miss anything except by very clear intentions. It helps me avoid unpleasantries.”

  I struggled with her strange choice of words. She’s a smart one, that Diana. “Maybe you’ve been avoiding too much and now you don’t know how to have fun anymore.”

  “Oh, I doubt that very seriously.” She looked away from me and straight to her tranny buddy. “I see Angelique is ready to go. We’re splitting cab fare, so that’s my signal. Thank you for the drink.”

  “I thought we could leave together. Come on, you know I was more interested in you than Keri.”

  “Because you bought me a drink?” she laughed. “You have much to learn, Cody.”

  She waited for the drag queen to bring her jacket and help her into it. Without his wig, make-up, and dress, he was very difficult to recognize. Not only did the tranny make a very pretty woman, but he was also a striking young man. And I don’t think that’s gay of me to say. I happen to see beauty in a lot of people.

  The drag queen grinned wickedly at me as he smoothed his jacket collar and wrapped an arm around Diana’s shoulder. I scowled at them, in sarcasm, as the pair walked out the door and I returned to my table.

  Admittedly, with far less enthusiasm for the crowd of admirers than I usually had. I was honestly disappointed I didn’t get another shot with Diana.

  * * *

  But I wasn’t finished chasing her just yet. The next time I saw her, I decided, what the hell…I’m just going to take her down a notch. I’m going to show her what it’s like to fool around with a country boy. Maybe I didn’t have her sophistication, but I knew women. Inside, they were all the same, wanted the same things – attention, gifts and beguiling words.

  We were preparing for a home game, so there was plenty of time for a Lamplight visit. My buddies all believed that I’m just trying to up my score by going after brainy chicks, but it’s more than that. Lamplight culture is like trying on a stiff, new leather jacket. At first, it feels confining but after a while, it conforms to your s
hape and contours. It becomes a part of you. I still didn’t understand it, but it was beginning to understand me, and because it did, I was beginning to understand its contour and shape.

  Saturday night came, and she performed the way she always performed, bringing meaning to the word “showgirl” that hadn’t existed since the nineteen-sixties. She did her mingling with the guests, then ordered her standard Margarita.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” I said, coming up to her at the bar. “You’re a snob. You think just because I’m a ballplayer that I’m a jock who knows about nothing except sports. Well, you’re wrong. I did get into college on a scholarship, but I kept up my grades. I majored in agricultural studies and business economics,” I added, bothered that the words came across so stiffly.

  She gave that practiced smile that meant nothing at all, only that she was addressing you. “That was smart. It means when you make your piles of money, you will know how to invest it.”

  “That’s right. My daddy didn’t raise a dummy. He taught me to prepare for the future.”

  “Is that why you share that apartment with your teammates? To save money?” she asked with a cynical grin.

  I didn’t like the cynical tone and felt I had the right to justify my decisions. “The team travels a lot, you know. The apartment is just a bachelor’s pad, a place to crash when we’re on the home turf. I like Northern California. That’s where I’m building my house. I’ve already bought the land and hired an architect.”

  “That’s all very interesting, I suppose. It adds more depth to you, Cody James.”

  I didn’t know if she was being sarcastic or sincere but decided to throw out a line. “So, was that drag queen guy you left with your boyfriend?”

  She smiled again, this time more secretively. “Does it make a difference to you?”

  “If you already have a guy, I can’t really ask you for a date.” Oddly, I felt nervous.

  “Well, Angelique’s his name. And he’s spoken for. Does that help you out?”

  “A little. I guess I’d like to know how to get a date with you.”

  She turned in her seat to look into my eyes, which was an assault on any man’s senses. They were dark and curtained with thick, black lashes. “Most men begin by trying to get to know me.”

  I stammered. “That’s what I’m trying to do. Where do you go? What do you do for fun? I can take you just about anywhere in San Francisco you’d like to go.”

  She gave a little grimace. “There’s not much in San Francisco I haven’t seen. It wouldn’t really be about getting to know me.”

  “Well, we have that in common. Maybe you can show me around backstage.”

  “You’re not allowed backstage! But maybe, I can show you the artists behind the curtains. I can show you how they dream. How they create. How they catch ideas, the way you catch a ball in your hand.”

  “I’d really like that, actually. I’m very much into supporting artists.”

  “So, I’ve heard,” she teased me.

  “Not just fooling around with them either,” I snapped back. “Why not give me your phone number and we can talk all about it?”

  “Hmmm, I don’t know…”

  “Come on, I’m not going to seduce you. I think you can trust yourself around me. Can’t ya? Fine, tell you what, I’ll give you my number. You can take my number down and call me when you want to.”

  She took my phone from my hand and entered some digits. “My private cell phone number. Don’t abuse it or I’ll change it. Call me and we’ll set up a dinner with my house family. It’s the best way to get to know me.”

  “I will. Sounds fun,” I said with a smile.

  See? Easy as apple pie. I shared my moment of triumph with Mark, showing the phone number as proof I had just been called to the plate. He chuckled with glee. “I can just hear her friends warning her about the bad boy baseball player. He’s rushing it and you’re letting him do it. It will throw you off balance!” His voice squeaked as he mimicked a girl’s hysterical tone.

  We had a good laugh. Some of my ex-girlfriends have strict rules about NEVER mentioning me. One girl, I knew even banned the use of the name ‘Cody’ all around her, and if her friends wanted to mention me, they were ordered to tie a red bandana to the banister and she would disappear the length of time necessary just to avoid hearing them talk about me! Hilarious.

  * * *

  I wasn’t sure what to expect from a house visit, probably a couple of cute and cuddly girlfriends trying to keep up the rent on a two thousand a month home. After all, she wasn’t quite big-time, so it was doubtful she would be living with celebrities. It was just my luck to discover one of her room-mates was Keri, and that she had abandoned us for the evening. Diana explained this while leading me into the living room.

  So much for good first impressions. In fact, the only first impressions I was making at all were on a couple who sat on the living room floor, discussing the psychotic episodes of Nietzsche. Remembering only vaguely what Nietzsche was supposed to have said and done, I added to the conversation hopefully, “I guess anyone who kills off his God is going to go a little crazy, isn’t he?”

  “Remarkable!” Said the man who had been introduced as Larson. “Amy take note of this. Plain talk. The humble man. Quick! Quick! My bongos!”

  I sat on the couch, watching with amazement as Amy crawled across the floor and returned with a set of bongos and a reed flute. They were both dressed the same, in tight, black stretchy pants, black tee-shirts, and berets. She played a few simple notes while he patted the bongos in front of him, eyes closed. “Awareness. It streaks primitive, raw and naked…eyes flash open for an instant…”

  “He cries alone in the night!” Cried Amy, swooping back, covering her brow with one arm. The bongos continued intently.

  The other housemate was also someone I had already met, the drag queen, Angelique. Apparently deciding that a guest was a major event, he fussed in the kitchen for a good while and turned out a very nice chicken casserole. He was dressed like a man and on his best “bro” behavior. I really was kind of impressed by how seriously hippie they all were. Kind of charming.

  Despite my initial look of surprise when I saw Larson sitting cross-legged, playing bongos while Amy recited Wallace Stephens poetry from a soft-bound book, the first part of the dinner went well.

  They all made the type of polite conversation one is expected to make, with inquiries into each other’s day, criticisms of the latest movies and complaints about the weather.

  Naturally, I managed to steer the conversation in the direction of baseball and the upcoming series. I told them I was optimistic about the Giants. This year, they were going to win the World Series.

  Without warning, Larson then threw down his napkin and pointed at Angelique. “You boiled the noodles too long!”

  “You didn’t boil them long enough,” Amy disagreed.

  “I am the expert in these things and I say they were boiled too long,” said Larson, standing.

  “They weren’t boiled enough! They taste like rubber,” insisted Alice.

  Angelique gasped and wrung his hands with anguish. “I slave all day and I can never please you. The dinner is ruined.”

  I scarcely knew what to think of Diana’s strange roommates! But I felt a great urge to pacify poor Angelique who looked ready to burst into tears.

  “Well…I think the noodles were boiled just right,” I said soothingly. This time I was earnest. “My Aunt Mary, bless her soul, couldn’t have made it better.”

  “Oh, do you really mean it, dearie?” Angelique sniffed. He stood up and kissed me on top of my head. “You don’t know how much this means to me!”

  “It’s raining in Brisbane,” said Larson gravely, looking at me. “Have you ever been to Brisbane in the rain? The air is brisk, the shadows long.”

  “It’s wet and dark. What business do you have in Brisbane, Mr. James?” Asked Amy.

  I shook my head with confusion. “None. Nothing. I do
n’t think I’ve ever been to Brisbane.”

  Angelique, Larson, and Amy looked at each other meaningfully. “He’s never been to Brisbane,” they declared together.

  Diana seized me by the arm and led me to the door before I became completely disoriented. “Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested with a giggle.

  * * *

  Late afternoons in San Francisco can be very pleasant in early spring, especially from the knobby hills that sprouted just outside the city center and sported one-hundred-year-old houses. The sun was a ruddy streak dominating the western sky. The lights were turning on in the city, twinkling like Christmas ornaments. A breeze sprang up, carrying with it the scent of eucalyptus.

  “What was all that about?” I asked. “Are they crazy?”

  “They were impromptu acting. They were throwing you a pitch.”

  “A pitch, huh?” I said, recognizing the baseball lingo. “Did I miss?”

  “Not completely.” She slipped her hand into mine as we walked. “My whole life, this has been the only area I ever wanted to live in. Not central. Not Wake County. Right here among these big, old houses.”

  “You like the past, don’t you?” I said. “You sort of cling to the past with that music you sing.”

  “There’s magic in it. We all want something from the past, cowboy. I always loved the cabaret-like performances and hopped-up jazz style. I used to love going to my grandfather’s house because it was like stepping into the past. He owned the house he had been raised in and kept all the family heirlooms there. One of these antiques was an old record player set for three speeds; 78’s, 33’s and 45’s. Even more exciting, he had a collection of those heavy 78 records that dated back to the nineteen-thirties. The songs were nearly a hundred years old, or maybe they were a hundred years old,” she reflected, “yet were still filled with the exuberance of a rollicking life that lurked just behind a world in crisis. A time when people laughed to forget sorrow.”