all of Rusterman’s chairs, it was massive and looked medieval.
Cassie managed to drag it back while Margaret squirmed into the chair on Cassie’s right.
“De-lighted. Ah’m mos’ surely de-lighted, Miz Casey.” Porter Penniman’s voice belonged in Walker’s, blackstrap molasses drowning a cinnamon waffle.
Cassie smiled. “You know, Mr. Penniman, you’ve always seemed a little sinister to me, onstage and off. You’ve changed now, and I like the new you.”
He raised a hand that looked as large as a dinner plate. “Ah mos’ solemnly swears, Miz Casey, that Ah shall never agin enlist no smelly li’l foreigners to wring your pretty li’l neck.”
“Friends forever.” Cassie offered her hand. “And call me Cassie, please.”
He took it, grasping it rather as an ogre of unusual size might have held a dove. “An’ you mus’ call me Tiny, which all mah other fren’s already does.”
A waiter leaned between them, proffering a platter of smoking fritters. At Cassie’s other elbow Brian Kean said, “Anchovy fritters, made fresh for you. I haven’t sampled them. They’re very hot.”
The waiter added, “Rusterman’s best,” and set his platter in the center of the table.
“ ’Til I come heah,” Tiny intoned, “Ah had believed this place heah to be solely in Noo Yahk.”
Margaret whispered, “It’s a chain now.”
Brian had taken the chair to her right. “Speaking of chains, I understand that India wants to enlist people for a new show.”
“It seems to me like it’s way too early for anybody to commit to anything,” Cassie said. She turned to Ebony, who was sitting to Porter Penniman’s left. “How long has India had this angel? Do you know?”
“No,” Ebony told her. “I don’t. But not long. Or I don’t think so.”
“I can always make a good living doing commercials,” Brian declared. “Still, there’s nothing like the stage, is there? Live audiences and reviews next morning.”
Ebony grinned. “The roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd.”
Porter Penniman had picked up a fritter. He popped it into his mouth as he might have eaten a peanut.
Cassie sipped Chablis.
Ebony rose, waving. “Over here, India!”
From behind Ebony, Tabbi murmured, “I thought she was bringing the angel.”
India pulled out a chair and dropped triumphantly into it. “Wallace Rosenquist will be along shortly, kids. I’ve made firm arrangements for them to let him in, and Bruce is waiting there to raise holy hell if they don’t. He saw our show tonight, and he’s eager to meet all of you.”
She turned to Cassie. “How were the utility tunnels?”
“You heard, huh?”
India nodded. “Mickey told me. Unwelcome company?”
“If you want to call it that.” Cassie picked up a red something on a toothpick, conveyed it to her mouth, chewed—and swallowed before she realized she did not know what she had eaten. “I saw a man I knew in the audience. After the show, Jimmy came around to tell me somebody was waiting for me in the alley. Waiting to give me something, okay?”
Ebony said, “Careful time.”
“Right. I’m not saying I don’t want to see this guy. I’d like to talk to him as a matter of fact. But there are very few people I want to meet in dark alleys, and he’s not one of them.”
Margaret whispered in Cassie’s ear, and she added, “He’d scared the heck out of Jimmy, and I didn’t like that. He’d also given Jimmy a hundred, but Jimmy was scared just the same.”
India said, “So?”
“So the utility tunnels. They run from building to building and there are electric wires in them. Pipes and all kinds of stuff. Mickey showed me how to get down in there. Then he took me on through when he saw how scared I was. We came out in the basement of the Marcus Building.”
Cassie stood. “I don’t mean to be impolite or anything, but where’s the Jane?”
Ebony said, “I’ll show you,” and Cassie followed her, hoping that Margaret was
Cassie managed to drag it back while Margaret squirmed into the chair on Cassie’s right.
“De-lighted. Ah’m mos’ surely de-lighted, Miz Casey.” Porter Penniman’s voice belonged in Walker’s, blackstrap molasses drowning a cinnamon waffle.
Cassie smiled. “You know, Mr. Penniman, you’ve always seemed a little sinister to me, onstage and off. You’ve changed now, and I like the new you.”
He raised a hand that looked as large as a dinner plate. “Ah mos’ solemnly swears, Miz Casey, that Ah shall never agin enlist no smelly li’l foreigners to wring your pretty li’l neck.”
“Friends forever.” Cassie offered her hand. “And call me Cassie, please.”
He took it, grasping it rather as an ogre of unusual size might have held a dove. “An’ you mus’ call me Tiny, which all mah other fren’s already does.”
A waiter leaned between them, proffering a platter of smoking fritters. At Cassie’s other elbow Brian Kean said, “Anchovy fritters, made fresh for you. I haven’t sampled them. They’re very hot.”
The waiter added, “Rusterman’s best,” and set his platter in the center of the table.
“ ’Til I come heah,” Tiny intoned, “Ah had believed this place heah to be solely in Noo Yahk.”
Margaret whispered, “It’s a chain now.”
Brian had taken the chair to her right. “Speaking of chains, I understand that India wants to enlist people for a new show.”
“It seems to me like it’s way too early for anybody to commit to anything,” Cassie said. She turned to Ebony, who was sitting to Porter Penniman’s left. “How long has India had this angel? Do you know?”
“No,” Ebony told her. “I don’t. But not long. Or I don’t think so.”
“I can always make a good living doing commercials,” Brian declared. “Still, there’s nothing like the stage, is there? Live audiences and reviews next morning.”
Ebony grinned. “The roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd.”
Porter Penniman had picked up a fritter. He popped it into his mouth as he might have eaten a peanut.
Cassie sipped Chablis.
Ebony rose, waving. “Over here, India!”
From behind Ebony, Tabbi murmured, “I thought she was bringing the angel.”
India pulled out a chair and dropped triumphantly into it. “Wallace Rosenquist will be along shortly, kids. I’ve made firm arrangements for them to let him in, and Bruce is waiting there to raise holy hell if they don’t. He saw our show tonight, and he’s eager to meet all of you.”
She turned to Cassie. “How were the utility tunnels?”
“You heard, huh?”
India nodded. “Mickey told me. Unwelcome company?”
“If you want to call it that.” Cassie picked up a red something on a toothpick, conveyed it to her mouth, chewed—and swallowed before she realized she did not know what she had eaten. “I saw a man I knew in the audience. After the show, Jimmy came around to tell me somebody was waiting for me in the alley. Waiting to give me something, okay?”
Ebony said, “Careful time.”
“Right. I’m not saying I don’t want to see this guy. I’d like to talk to him as a matter of fact. But there are very few people I want to meet in dark alleys, and he’s not one of them.”
Margaret whispered in Cassie’s ear, and she added, “He’d scared the heck out of Jimmy, and I didn’t like that. He’d also given Jimmy a hundred, but Jimmy was scared just the same.”
India said, “So?”
“So the utility tunnels. They run from building to building and there are electric wires in them. Pipes and all kinds of stuff. Mickey showed me how to get down in there. Then he took me on through when he saw how scared I was. We came out in the basement of the Marcus Building.”
Cassie stood. “I don’t mean to be impolite or anything, but where’s the Jane?”
Ebony said, “I’ll show you,” and Cassie followed her, hoping that Margaret was
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