“You don’t like the fish?”
“It’s fine … great. I just had too many hors d’oeuvres.” She smiled. “You don’t want me getting fat.”
The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. But now that she mentioned it, the image of an obese Betsy was enough to take away his appetite. He wondered if fat was in her genetic design. Her mother had been a dancer. Was Mama fat? Was fat inherited? “To be honest, Betsy, I figure fat on a woman is gross. God made women to be beautiful. And fat ain’t beautiful. Just the thought of a fat broad on one of my stages is disgusting.”
She made no response.
“Your mother,” he said finally, “you said she was a dancer.”
“Yes, she was.”
“What was her name? Her stage name?”
“Ginger … Ginger Dorsey. That was her stage name. Also her married name. Her maiden name was LaFleur.”
French. He liked French. There seemed to be something inherently sexy about the French—men and women. “Your dad?”
“They’re divorced. I was about ten when he left. Mother raised me alone. Taught me everything I know … certainly everything I know about dancing.”
“Your mother keep her figure?”
She almost blushed. “Why all this interest in my mother? Were you thinking of offering her a job?”
“Not till this minute. But now that you mention it, it might be worth considering. Mother and daughter, dancing on the same stage! There’s Naomi and Wynonna Judd—but they’re singers. I can’t think of any mother-daughter dancers … certainly not big-time. Do you two live together?”
“No, I live in Troy; she’s in St. Clair Shores.”
“Clear across town.” So much for getting a look at Mama, let alone a chance at her, tonight.
Oh, well, the daughter should be enough for now.
“Is Ginger working?”
“She’s a free-lance model. She gets lots of work. I think you’ll recognize her when you see her.”
“I can hardly wait.”
Their waitress appeared, suggesting dessert, but neither wanted anything else. Jake took care of the check.
It went without saying that Jake would drive Betsy home.
She invited him in. He accepted.
She seemed in no hurry to abandon the vertical position. Why was this beginning to remind Jake of his memorable evening with the underaged Judith? It couldn’t be happening to him again, could it? What were the odds?
She brought coffee. She knew where all this was going to end, but, what was the hurry? Then she noticed that Jake was getting antsy. Best not to drag things out.
By no means was it Betsy’s first time. But it was her first time with a man as experienced as Jake. That made her a little nervous. The moment was awkward.
Jake broke the ice: “Did you want to slip into something more comfortable?”
“Sure. The next time you see me, I’ll have nothing to wear.” As she stepped into the bedroom, she looked back at Jake with an elaborate wink.
While she was gone, he walked around the room as though looking at it for the first time. Nice furnishings, nothing fancy.
He noticed a photo of a woman in a brief swimsuit. A very goodlooking woman. Careful study disclosed not a single visible flaw. It was inscribed, “To Betsy with Love. Mother.”
So this was Ginger. What a coup this would be: Mother and daughter on stage together! How about that: When he found Betsy, he’d found a gold mine.
But where was she? How long does it take a broad to strip?
The image of Moses Green knocked at his consciousness. He didn’t want to let Moe in. But Moe was persistent.
The only reason why he, Jake, had emerged from his blue funk was the news that Moe had changed his mind about forcing Jake out of the Viragos. If it hadn’t been for that bulletin—and the timing—he never would have revived his old custom of laying the winner of these auditions.
Up till this moment, Jake had given no thought to the likelihood that Moe was not going to vanish. Moe was still very much there. Still in control. At any moment—and for any reason—Moe could step back in and try another takeover.
Matter of fact, the bastard might be feeling rotten now, and that could be the reason Moe had come up with this reprieve. He could go back on it any time he wanted. Jake could be in charge of Virago on borrowed time.
Jake dropped to the couch. Betsy reentered the room. True to her departure line, she wore nothing. She struck a pose. Just like her mother: not a single flaw. But Betsy had the advantage of fewer years. Her breasts—even without the support of clothing—more firm and rounded, her legs a little longer and slimmer.
He saw her. His mind registered that she was there. He appreciated her. But he was not thinking of her—or them. Moses Green inhabited his mind.
Jake would have been the last to subscribe to the theory that the most sexual organ in the human body is the brain. But, at this moment, he was the truest example of that theory.
Here was one of the most perfect beauties standing naked before him, offering herself to him. And all he could think of was Moses Green. Jake had no response whatever to Betsy.
Betsy was sure of herself. But she had also been sure of Jake. If he could sit there and do nothing, something must be wrong with her. “Jake, is something wrong?”
No answer.
“Am I doing something wrong?”
“No.”
“You want me to help you undress?”
“No.”
“What is it, Jake. Don’t you like me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, dammit! You’re as close to perfect as anybody I ever saw.”
Betsy began to feel awkward standing there nude. Just standing there. It was as if she were a model. But in that case Jake would be doing something—painting, photographing … something. But he was doing nothing. He wasn’t even looking at her.
She stepped into the bedroom and returned in a robe. She sat on the couch next to Jake and put her hand on his arm. “These things happen, Jake. Maybe you’re just tired.”
“Oh, for the love of God, don’t brush this off with something you saw on TV! This thing doesn’t just happen. It’s never happened to me before. Not in my whole life.”
“Then it’s something I said or did. Just tell me, Jake, and it’ll never happen again.”
“It’s not you! Can’t you get that through your thick skull?”
The silence called for a remorseful apology.
“I’m sorry, Betsy. I didn’t mean that last crack. I got something on my mind, and I can’t shake it. Honest, it’s got nothing to do with you … nothing to do with us.” He patted her hand. “I’ll work it out. I gotta do that on my own.”
He rose from the couch. He couldn’t think of another thing to say or do to Betsy. He took his topcoat from the back of the chair and left her apartment.
Betsy didn’t know whether to believe his words or his actions. Had something she’d done or said ruined her chances at Virago?
She would not get much sleep this night.
Jake sat in his car. He did not dare turn the key, much less drive just now. He was far too distracted, an accident waiting to happen. He’d have to think this through.
Outside of a few hours today, the last time he had felt good about things was when he’d thought Moe was dead. That euphoria was shattered when Moe returned from the dead.
The conclusion was inevitable. He didn’t want to face it, but—death was the only solution. After all, anybody who killed Moses Green would be doing the world a favor.
But if he were going to do it, he’d have to plan very carefully. The problem scarcely would be solved if he ended up in Jacktown doing life without parole.
He was confident he could come up with a well-thought-out scheme, but time was a factor. If he was going to do it, it was now or never.
Suddenly, he was quite calm. He might even have been able to make it with Betsy if he hadn’t just left her. It would make no sense to retur
n at this point. And there was more pressing business.
Now he was relaxed and able to drive. And while he drove he could plot.
Contemplating a world without Moe Green was enjoyable. As he began to plot, he realized it wasn’t so much a matter of coming up with a single scenario as it was a process of casting aside a series of possibilities in favor of the perfect plan.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sign read, PLEASE SEAT YOURSELF.
Three well-dressed, good-looking young people glanced at the sign, conferred briefly, and headed for a booth in the rear of the restaurant. Two, a man and a woman, were white; the other man was black.
“It’s like having your own private club,” David Green said.
“It’s way too late for any of Big Boy’s regular clientele to be here,” Bill Gray said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Judith Green replied. “I don’t know anybody who ever went to a Big Boy.”
They had selected the Big Boy restaurant for their late-night meeting for all of the reasons above.
There would be few customers at this late hour. Indeed, the three were the only patrons in the entire place. Even if others had been there, the likelihood of any recognition between a Big Boy regular and any of these three was minimal.
It was even better than a private club. In a club they surely would know someone or someone would know them.
Of the two waitresses, neither gave any indication of taking her duties seriously. That was no problem for the purposes of this trio; they were not there out of hunger or thirst.
“So,” Judith opened, “how’s it going with you, Davie?”
“As well as can be expected,” he said, borrowing hospital jargon. “How about you, Bill?”
“Making progress,” Gray said. “Progress is our most important product.”
“For the love of Christ, will you guys let up?” Judith was irritated. “We didn’t come here to trade clichés.”
“Well,” David said, “you’re the one who called this meeting—or was it the two of you?” he asked, including Bill.
“It wasn’t the two of us,” Gray insisted.
Judith took full responsibility. “I think it’s important for us to meet. As of Monday night, there was positively no reason whatsoever for us to get together, especially on the sly.”
“Let’s see …” David was toying with his sister. “What could have happened Monday night?”
Bill seemed amused by the sibling baiting. “Your father—my future father-in-law—rose from the dead … don’t you remember?”
“Don’t get cute,” Judith snapped. “We all know what happened. Our problems were solved. Until that unfortunate turn of circumstances.
“What I want to know, and what I want all of us to be aware of, is where we stand now with Daddy.” She paused. “I’ll—”
Before she could finish her sentence, a waitress loomed over them, bearing menus.
“We don’t need menus,” Judith said. “Just bring water and three coffees, regular.”
“Wait—”
“Three coffees, regular.” Judith, ignoring her fiancé’s interpolation, drove home her point.
As the waitress turned to leave, Judith said to Bill, “I know you take decaf. But we don’t have time to fool with a dumb waitress. Besides, we want to be wide awake and alert.”
How like Mother, thought David. How very much like Mother.
“I haven’t seen Dad since Monday night,” Judith said. “How about you?”
Both men shook their heads.
“But,” she continued, “I did get a call from him.” She looked pointedly first at Bill, then at David.
Bill shook his head. David nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “So far, it’s what I expected. I can almost guess what the old bastard told you, Davie. But first I’ll give you a brief rundown of what he said to me.
“He said he still opposed my marriage.”
“Did the word nigger come up?”
“That’s immaterial, honey. Let me finish. He opposed the marriage … but he was willing to compromise.”
Bill snorted.
“Hear it out,” she said. “He would not attend.”
“There’s a blow!”
“He would not attend. But he would contribute a third of the cost.”
“What?!” Bill almost stood. “We don’t need—we don’t want his money.”
“I know that. He’s almost forcing the money on us because he’s tied that to destroying that tape of Jake and me.”
Silence.
The waitress returned with the coffee. “Will that be all?” Her sarcasm was obvious.
Judith laid a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “That’s for you, sweetie. Just keep the coffee coming.”
“Is the coffee part of the twenty?”
Judith added a ten-dollar bill to the twenty. “You pay for the coffee, sweetie, and keep the rest.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She almost saluted.
“As I was saying,” Judith recommenced as the waitress retreated, “Daddy promised he would destroy the tape.”
This time it was David who snorted. “And you believe him? And all you’ve got to do is accept some dough? Not a bad deal. The old man must have a hole in his IV tube.”
“It doesn’t make sense, does it?” Bill said. He’s not coming to the wedding … so what! Who’ll miss him? Next, he demands that we accept his money—and in return he’ll destroy the tapes he threatened to use to embarrass you and cripple my potential practice.”
“You’re quite right, dear,” Judith said. “On the face of it, there’s no point to his offer.”
“Which means,” David said, “that there’s more to it than meets the eye. Like Gilbert wrote, ‘Things are seldom what they seem.’ What’s he got in mind?” He looked from one to the other. “Any ideas?”
“My guess,” Judith said, “is that he’ll find some way of using the money gift as a debt we owe him. Dad always does things like that—at least he has with me. He gives something with one hand and he takes it back—with interest—with the other hand.”
Bill nodded. “So what you’re saying is that we don’t know what he’s going to demand of us. We’re just sure there’s no free lunch. Somehow, sometime, he’ll demand his pound of flesh. And if we refuse his offer then he uses the tape of you and Jake.”
“That’s the way I see it,” Judith agreed. “On top of that, what’s to say that even if he gave us the tape, that he wouldn’t keep X number of copies to use if the occasion arose.”
“Now, hold on a minute,” David said. “Aren’t you being a little harsh? The old man doesn’t like your choice for a life’s companion; so he won’t go to the service. But to show he’s not a sore loser, and so you won’t cut him out of your life forever, he helps defray the cost of the wedding. And, on top of all that, he throws in a most destructive tape in the bargain. And why? Because he has become God’s Chosen One. Doesn’t that sound like a possible explanation?” David’s sarcasm was caustic.
“Sure,” Judith said. “And the pope’s Polish.”
David and Bill looked at each other.
“You don’t know?” Bill said.
“What?”
“The pope is Polish.”
Judith waved a hand in dismissal. “I don’t keep up with that.”
“But you got a call from the old man too,” said Bill to David. “What did he want from you?”
“Nothing, really. Like you, he was offering me things.”
“Like …?”
“All along,” David said, “he’s held a double threat over my head: He will either make me sole heir of his considerable fortune or he will cut me off without a penny.”
“And?”
“And upon my passing the bar, I will be pressed into involuntary servitude. I’ll be Daddy’s lawyer. And that almost certainly would preclude any other practice, and make my life more miserable than even I could imagine.”
“He couldn’t do t
hat to you,” Bill protested.
“Don’t underestimate Pop,” David warned. “When he wants something, he gets it.
“Anyway, he assured me that he was about to make a binding will, in perpetuity, that I inherit the bundle. And he promised that I would be free to act in his behalf, legally, on a case-by-case basis. And, if I chose to represent him, I could charge a competitive fee … sound pretty good?”
“Great,” Bill said. “But how much of that can you swallow?”
“I’ll admit, I have trouble getting any of it down.”
“So where does this leave us?”
The waitress returned and filled cups. She looked longingly at the money. “Would you like me to take that for you?”
“Just leave it, dearie,” Judith said. “Trust us. It’s yours. When we leave.”
It was evident from her manner that she’d believe all this only as she put the money in her pocket. She walked away, making a face to herself.
“I’ll tell you where this leaves us,” Judith said. “It leaves us with a string of promises. And knowing Daddy, they’re empty promises, every one of them.”
“That puts us back at square one, doesn’t it?” Bill commented. “We’re right where we were before Monday: Each of us is up the creek and Moses Green has the paddle.”
“Then it may be up to us to take the paddle in our own hands.” Judith played the ingenue for a moment.
“What do you mean?” David asked.
She reverted to Lady Macbeth. “We’ve got to return Dear Old Daddy to last Monday night. But this time, no miracles.”
The other two looked at her blankly for a few moments. “You’ve got to be kidding,” David said finally.
She turned to him. “But this time you can’t botch it.”
“Botch it? Me?! What do you mean, me?!”
“Whatever you did—drugged him, overdosed him, I don’t know— but whatever you did, you botched it and he regained consciousness. This time we’ve got to make sure he’s dead.”
“What do you mean, me?!” David repeated. “I didn’t do anything! Look to your bridegroom—or yourself! You—one of you, both of you, I don’t know—you’re the ones who bungled it!”
“Wait a minute—” Bill began.
“There’s nothing to be gained in pointing the finger at each other,” Judith said dismissively. “Maybe we can all learn something from that fiasco last Monday. This time we’ve got to make certain Daddy doesn’t cheat death.”
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