Vic let him out. He rushed off alone, half-trotting, so intent that he bowled over two Japanese businessmen on his way out.
“Sonny’s upset,” Vic observed, as he signed the check.
“No kidding.”
“Oh, I don’t mean this waitress business. This was actually a step in the right direction. The new Sonny.”
“What would the old Sonny have done?”
“Gotten the girl fired. After he turned the table over and smashed some plates. He’s a lot calmer now. No, it was the way he acted toward his fans.”
“How did he act?”
“Like he liked them. Wanted them to approach him. He was performing. He only does it when he’s upset. Calms him down. Hasn’t done that in a long, long time.”
“I suppose he has a lot riding on this job.”
“It’s not the job. It’s that letter. It’s got him plenty worried. Me, too.”
“You think it’s for real?”
Vic shrugged. “Have to assume it is. You can’t afford to be wrong.”
“Think there’s any connection between it and my little housewarming gift?”
Vic shifted uncomfortably. “No. No, I don’t.”
“Then who—”
“Let’s go. I don’t want him to be alone for very long.”
A set had been erected on the stage of one of the headliner rooms, seemingly out of all of the Reynolds Wrap in the state of Nevada. A runway extended out into the seats, where it met up with the TV cameras and the monitors. Production assistants with clipboards scurried around. Pot-bellied technicians fiddled importantly with lights and mikes and eyeballed the showgirls, most of whom were seated in the first few rows, ignoring them. A few of them were up on stage learning their cues and marks from the stage manager. They wore tight jeans and halter tops. They were very tall and very well-built, but their features were coarse, their expressions stony. Sonny was up on stage shaking hands with the promoters and making them laugh. Vic and I slid into a couple of seats.
“I don’t like this,” said Vic. “So many people coming and going. Any of them could take a shot at Sonny.”
The big guy was getting jumpy. Something about him being jumpy made me jumpy. “So why don’t you call the police? Or hotel security?”
“You know why.”
“Sonny’s kind of rough on you, isn’t he?”
“He’s got to be rough on somebody. Better me than somebody he can really hurt, like Connie or Wanda.”
“What happened to the ‘big guys have big feelings’ business?”
“Nothing. It’s just that I can take it from him, Hoag. It’s my job to take it, not theirs.”
“Think he’s going to pull out of this book?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want him to?”
“I want him to do what’s best for him,” Vic replied.
The director announced a technical run-through and called for quiet. He was a kid with a beard, a Hawaiian shirt, and an impatient, uptight manner. He was insecure. An insecure director, Merilee once told me, can get to be a very bitchy one.
And this one did, within minutes.
Sonny was reading one of his introductions off the prompter. A joke: “And now, here they are, Miss Aladdin Hotel.”
It got a few snickers from the crew, but Sonny wasn’t happy with it. This he indicated by clutching his throat and making gagging noises.
“Do you have a problem with the line, Mr. Day?” the director demanded.
“Kinda stale, ain’t it? I mean, it was stale when Paar used it twenty years ago. We can do better than this.”
“The jokes are already written, Mr. Day.”
“Yeah, but I gotta say ’em. Gimme a minute. I’ll think of something.”
“We don’t have a minute,” said the director testily. “And frankly, people aren’t turning this pageant on to listen to your jokes. Half of them will have their sound off and their pizzles in their hand.”
Sonny laughed. “Pizzles? What, they teach you to talk tough like that in grammar school—last week?”
That got a lot of laughter, from both the crew and the girls.
The director reddened. “Are you going to be uncooperative and unprofessional, Mr. Day? Tell me if you are. Tell me right now. Because I want to get on the phone and see who’s in town who can pinch-hit for you. I can’t deal with this. I need a professional.”
The room got very quiet. Everyone was looking at Sonny now. Everyone was wondering what The One would do.
He bared his teeth and went for his Sen-Sens. He popped a couple in his mouth and chewed them. And kept chewing them, until the anger and hurt had all but gone from his face. And then he said quietly, “I am a professional.”
“And?” the director prodded.
“And you’re the director,” Sonny added softly, like an obedient child.
“Fine. Now let’s run through this, shall we?”
They resumed.
“I’m going to have to split,” I told Vic.
“I don’t blame you,” he said tightly, glowering at the director.
“Think he’d mind if I missed the performance, too?”
“Just tell him you loved it.”
I fled up the aisle.
“How’s my little girl?”
“Getting a little familiar, aren’t we?”
“I meant the one with the short legs.”
“Oh. She’s fine. She’s taking a nap outside.”
“I knew it. She doesn’t miss me. She doesn’t even know I’m gone.”
“I was trying to spare you. She’s actually been woeful and droopy all day.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” I sighed into the phone. “And I do. Did I remember to tell you when to feed her?”
“You wrote it all down. Does she really eat—”
“Did I tell you she might want to sleep with you?”
“No.”
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
“She might want to sleep on your head.”
“And I might like it.”
“I thought you would.”
She sniffled. “You didn’t call to see how I am. You called about her?
She was hamming. That movie of ours seemed to be rolling again.
“And how was school today?” I ad-libbed.
“If you’re nice to me,” she replied, her voice a husky whisper now, “sometime I’ll tell you about … rezoning.”
“Tell me, how does a sexy, front-page kind of girl like you end up in real estate, anyway?”
“I was fucking a realtor.”
“Was?”
“He blow-dries his body hair. Do you blow-dry your body hair, Hoagy?”
“No, I pay somebody else to do it for me.”
She laughed. There was a pause, and then: “Hoagy?”
“Yes?”
“I’m starting to get a feeling about the two of us. Are you?”
I hesitated, not sure if she were playing now.
“Hello?” she said. “Silence isn’t a great answer.”
“I’m not quite sure how to answer that one.”
“You’ll do fine.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m getting the same feeling. Only …”
“Only?”
“I make it a point to never mix business with pain.”
Now it was her turn to be silent.
“Whew,” she finally said. “You’re good at this.”
“You’re in the big leagues now, kid.”
“I guess I am. Is it because I’m so old and decrepit? Is that why you’re rejecting me?”
“Let’s talk about it when I get back. Over dinner. And you’re not old and decrepit. You’re about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I’m flattered.”
“You shouldn’t be. I have terrible taste in men, remember?”
She hung up, laughing. End of scene.
As for me, I took a deep breath and dialed Winn
ipeg, Manitoba. It took me several calls before I found the hotel where the cast and crew of the new movie by the new genius were staying, but I did find it and the phone in her room did ring and she did answer it. My heart began to pound when she said hello. Briefly I forgot how to talk. She said hello again, a little suspiciously now.
“Hello, Merilee,” I finally got out.
“Hoagy, darling, it’s you. I thought for a second it was going to be a breather.”
“Disappointed?”
“Never.”
For years critics have tried to describe Merilee’s voice. It is one of her strongest assets as an actress and as a woman—rich and cultivated, yet feathery and slightly dizzy sounding. To me, she has always sounded like a very proper, well-bred teenaged girl who has just gotten her first kiss. And liked it.
“Hoagy?”
“Yes, Merilee?”
“Hello.”
“Hello, yourself. Something I needed to ask you. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? I’m stranded here watching a hockey game on television. Blood is spurting.”
“Where’s Zack?”
“In New York, wrestling with his new play,” she replied. “Was that your question?”
“No. Is Lulu two or is she going to be two?”
“It’s on the back of her tag. We had her birthdate engraved there, remember? I wanted to put her sign there, too, and you wouldn’t let me.
“Dogs don’t have astrological signs.”
“They do, too.”
“I can’t check her tag. She’s in L.A. I’m in Las Vegas.”
“You didn’t stick her in some kennel, did you?”
“What land of guy do you think I am?”
“Gifted and tragic.”
“You got that half right.”
“Which half?”
“So tell me what Debbie Winger’s like.”
“I don’t know, darling. She never comes out of her trailer. I’m playing her bad side. It’s all very psychological, which I think in this particular case is another word for baked beans.”
“I’ve missed your quaint little expressions.”
“I actually have no idea what’s going on. The director can’t tell me—he’s too busy listening to people tell him how brilliant he is. We wrap in a week. Hoagy, what on earth are you doing in Las Vegas?”
“I’m working on a book with Sonny Day.”
“I saw something about that in People.”
That was another thing I always liked about Merilee—she never denied that she read People. “What did it say?”
“That Gabe Knight isn’t very pleased about their past being dredged up. And that you were doing it.”
“Think it’s sleazy of me?”
“I don’t think you could do anything sleazy if you tried.”
“Why, Merilee, that’s the second-nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“What’s the nicest?”
“‘Are you sure there aren’t any other positions you’d like to try?’”
“Mister Hoagy, you’re getting terribly frisky, hanging around with borscht belt comics. So let’s hear all about The One. Is he as greasy and awful as he seems?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
She was silent a second. “What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think something is wrong?”
She didn’t bother to answer.
“I’m getting involved,” I said. “I’m not sure it’s a good thing. My role here is already so fuzzy. I’m not a reporter. I’m not a shrink. I’m not a friend. There’s really no word for what I am—at least not a clean one.”
“Let yourself go, Hoagy.”
“Let myself go?”
“You always have to hold on to yourself. That’s always been your problem.”
“So that’s it.”
“Give yourself over to the role. Enjoy it.”
“It’s too creepy to enjoy.” I told her what had been going on, and how Sonny had been reacting.
“He’s right not to make a big thing of the sickies,” she said calmly. “I never do. Tell me, darling, is there a novel?”
“There’s nothing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Wait, there’s somebody at the door. Hold on.” She put the phone down. I heard voices, and the sound of Merilee’s door closing. Then she returned. “It’s tomorrow’s pages … merciful heavens, I’m going to be in mud. It’s twenty-four below zero outside. How does one get mud?”
“With a lot of very hot water.”
“Lovely. I’d better hang up. I have a five-thirty call in the morning and I have to learn this.”
“Take your rose hips.”
“I promise.”
“Merilee … do you ever miss us?”
“I try to not think about us. It makes me sad. I don’t like to be sad.”
We were both silent for a moment.
“It was fabulous, wasn’t it?” she finally said.
“It was very fabulous.”
“Hoagy?”
“Yes?”
“Lulu’s going to be three. And she’s a Virgo.”
I hung up and lay there glumly on my hotel bed, staring at the smoke detector on the ceiling.
There was a knock on the door. It was a bellboy—with a bottle of Dom Perignon in a bucket of ice.
“I didn’t order that,” I said.
“Compliments of an admirer, sir.” He parked it on the dresser.
There was a note. Of course. It read: Challenge excites me—W.
“Shall I open it, sir?”
“What an excellent idea.”
I toasted Wanda in the mirror over the dresser with my first glass. To my surprise, there was almost a smile on my face. She was right. It was much more fun this way.
The bubbly gave me just enough courage to watch Sonny’s pageant on TV while I got dressed.
He had a tux, a ruffled shirt, and his mask on. He seemed at home there under the lights—tanned, relaxed, in control. He was kidding around with Miss Tropicana, a big varnished redhead who’d just won the talent category for her impression of Carol Burnett.
“Tell me the truth,” said Sonny. “Ever think you’d be up here like this tonight, honey?”
“Never, Mr. Day,” she replied earnestly.
Sonny’s face darkened for an instant. I could have sworn he was about to say “That makes two of us.” But he didn’t say it. He brightened and said, “Good luck in the overall competition, honey.” The mask had slipped, but it had stayed on. You had to know him to notice it at all.
I put on a white broadcloth shirt, burgundy silk foulard tie, cream pleated trousers, and my double-breasted navy blazer.
The orchestra slammed into “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel. After an introduction by Sonny, each showgirl strutted out to the edge of the ramp clad in bikini and high heels, stopped, smiled, placed hands on hips, swiveled, and strutted back. It was one hell of a testimonial to the wonders of silicone.
I doused myself with Floris and went down to the casino.
There were crowds at the tables now. The wheels were spinning, the dice landing. Winners yelled. Losers groaned. I slid onto a vacant stool at a blackjack table and snapped one of my crisp hundreds onto the green felt. The dealer gave me my chips. I lit the dollar cigar I’d bought at the newsstand.
I won twenty dollars on my first hand by sitting on thirteen. The dealer showed a four, drew on a fourteen, and busted. I let it ride and lost it with a seventeen to his nineteen. I upped my bet to twenty-five dollars, lost it, won it back, let it ride, lost it and three more like it. That took care of my first hundred. I laid down another one, raised my bet to fifty dollars, and lost it in two hands.
I like to gamble, but I’m lousy at it. I’m impulsive and I’m stubborn. I throw good money after bad. It’s no way to win. But then, I don’t expect to win.
I stayed even with my third hundred for a half hour, then got reckless and left it at a roulette wheel. By then it was time to pu
t out my cigar and meet Sonny and Vic backstage.
Photographers and contestants were crowded in the corridor around the winning girl, who was sobbing. I squeezed past them and made it to Sonny’s dressing room, which was stuffed with casino executives, backers, agents, and other forms of carnivorous animal life. They all had gleaming eyes and were shouting words like “wonderful” and “beautiful” at each other. Goblets of white wine were being passed out.
Sonny was shaking hands, patting backs, still very on. He wore pancake makeup. He spotted me in the doorway. “Hey, pally! Like the show?!”
“Loved it!”
“Beautiful!”
I grabbed a wine goblet and joined Vic, who stood impassively against the wall. We stayed there together like potted plants until everybody had gone. Everybody except the director, who was now trying to be buddy-buddy.
“Sonny, it’s been a total slice of heaven,” the kid gushed. “I gave you total shit. You gave me total shit. But that’s cool. It’s only because we both care so fucking much about what we’re …” He trailed off, frowning.
There was this steady dribbling sound. It was my drink slowly being emptied on his Reeboks.
“Oops,” I said. “Sorry.”
Next to me, Vic began to shake from suppressed laughter. Sonny just stood there grinning at me like a proud parent. A feeling passed between us, and just like that I knew the book was back on, Gabe and all.
Red-faced, the director quickly shook Sonny’s hand and ducked out.
Sonny let out a short, harsh laugh and clapped me on the back. Then he turned to Vic and ordered, “Lock that damn door!”
Vic did, and Sonny immediately slumped into the chair before his dressing table, exhausted. Vic helped him off with his tuxedo jacket. The ruffled shirt underneath was soaking wet under the arms. Vic toweled Sonny’s forehead and the back of his neck for him, like a water boy on the sideline.
“God, that was awful,” Sonny moaned. “But it’s over. I did my job. That’s all that matters. I did my job.”
“You’re a pro, Sonny,” Vic assured him.
Sonny heaved a huge sigh and began to wipe the makeup off his face with a tissue. Vic helped him off with his shirt and his trousers. He took his shoes, socks, and boxers off himself and stood before us naked. “Lemme hose off and we’ll get the hell away from this place, okay?” He started past me to the stall shower, stopped, and crinkled his nose at me. “Hey, you been smoking?”
The Man Who Died Laughing Page 7