been waiting all along for Bobby Marvel.
Maybe he had come to give her some acting tips for Jojo’s funeral.
Fat chance, Smith.
He had come to see me.
“You could get a hundred grand for this,” I told Aurilla, setting down the violin. “Why don’t you cash in and send Gretchen
to the Citadel.”
After a soft knock, the door opened. Aurilla’s assistant peered in. “Excuse me. The president is here.”
“Thank you, Wallace.” Aurilla’s android smile rose a notch. “Gretchen, play something for Miss Frost. Right now.” She left.
I sat on the girl’s chair. “Got a checkerboard?”
She finally got up from the cushion of French fries. “I want to play my violin.”
I handed it over. “Not too loud, please. I can’t stand squeaks.”
She didn’t make many. As I had suspected, the girl was very gifted: not many chromosomes separated psychopath from prodigy.
“Nice,” I said when the Mendelssohn had ended. “Who’s your teacher?”
“Uncle Bendix.” While my mouth was hanging open, Gretchen added, “But he hasn’t given me a lesson in a long time.”
I sighed. “Play something else.”
Mozart. Gretchen’s face became wise beyond her years; I recognized the look and pitied those who would someday become her
lovers. After she finished, I showed her a few bowings. We were deep in horsehair when a voice interrupted.
“Wonderful.” Bobby Marvel, three feet away.
Gretchen immediately reverted to form. “Who asked you?” she snapped, cracking her boot against the president’s shin.
Marvel managed a smile as he rubbed his bruise. “Evenin’, ma’am.”
Aurilla appeared. “What’s going on here?”
As Bobby straightened up, a few fries fell into his cuff. “Just tying my shoelace.”
“You were not,” Gretchen cried. “Buzz off!”
“Gretchen Perle! Mind your manners!”
Ah, if Maxine could see me now. I put down the violin and patted the girl’s head. “Keep up the good work, dear.” Now for the
tricky part. “Good night, sir.”
He wouldn’t let go of my hand. Worse, his thumb was wandering. “That was such a fantastic concert the other night. I could
listen to the whole thing all over again.”
When I didn’t offer to play the whole thing all over again, Aurilla stepped into the breach. “President Marvel’s quite a musician,
you know.”
Spoons? Washboard? “I brought my cornet with me to the White House,” he boasted. “Still play it sometimes with the Marine
Band.”
They must just love that. My hand was beginning to sweat but Bobby held on through a long-winded paean to his cornet teacher.
“One in a million,” the president blubbered, eyes bright with tears. “I still think of him every day.”
I finally got my hand back. Nearly ran to the Corvette but my getaway was not quite fast enough. As I was buckling my seat
belt, a Secret Service agent caught up with me. “The president would like a word with you, ma’am. Just wait a moment.”
My usual reply would have been a fifty-foot swath of rubber. However, I was a member of the armed forces, he was my commander
in chief, so I walked dutifully to the car waiting in the shadows. No voters here, so Marvel didn’t need to act presidential;
in fact, he sat in the backseat with his legs curled, the better to massage the welt on his shin. I sat in the corner and
tried to appear awed. After Barnard’s video, it just wasn’t possible. “Hurt?” I asked finally.
“Goddamn brat. Did you like Mr. Schnizzler?”
Took a moment to figure out whom he meant. “Not really. It was a bad translation. Badly acted.” Bobby watched as I crossed
my legs. “Lousy night.”
The president suddenly leaned forward, chin jutting like a pit bull. At last he looked like the guy on fifty-cent postcards.
“Someone else was expected in that seat.”
As my heart thumped against my halter, warm French perfume blossomed in the dark.
Go! Now!
I leapt over the cliff. “Polly gave me her
Maybe he had come to give her some acting tips for Jojo’s funeral.
Fat chance, Smith.
He had come to see me.
“You could get a hundred grand for this,” I told Aurilla, setting down the violin. “Why don’t you cash in and send Gretchen
to the Citadel.”
After a soft knock, the door opened. Aurilla’s assistant peered in. “Excuse me. The president is here.”
“Thank you, Wallace.” Aurilla’s android smile rose a notch. “Gretchen, play something for Miss Frost. Right now.” She left.
I sat on the girl’s chair. “Got a checkerboard?”
She finally got up from the cushion of French fries. “I want to play my violin.”
I handed it over. “Not too loud, please. I can’t stand squeaks.”
She didn’t make many. As I had suspected, the girl was very gifted: not many chromosomes separated psychopath from prodigy.
“Nice,” I said when the Mendelssohn had ended. “Who’s your teacher?”
“Uncle Bendix.” While my mouth was hanging open, Gretchen added, “But he hasn’t given me a lesson in a long time.”
I sighed. “Play something else.”
Mozart. Gretchen’s face became wise beyond her years; I recognized the look and pitied those who would someday become her
lovers. After she finished, I showed her a few bowings. We were deep in horsehair when a voice interrupted.
“Wonderful.” Bobby Marvel, three feet away.
Gretchen immediately reverted to form. “Who asked you?” she snapped, cracking her boot against the president’s shin.
Marvel managed a smile as he rubbed his bruise. “Evenin’, ma’am.”
Aurilla appeared. “What’s going on here?”
As Bobby straightened up, a few fries fell into his cuff. “Just tying my shoelace.”
“You were not,” Gretchen cried. “Buzz off!”
“Gretchen Perle! Mind your manners!”
Ah, if Maxine could see me now. I put down the violin and patted the girl’s head. “Keep up the good work, dear.” Now for the
tricky part. “Good night, sir.”
He wouldn’t let go of my hand. Worse, his thumb was wandering. “That was such a fantastic concert the other night. I could
listen to the whole thing all over again.”
When I didn’t offer to play the whole thing all over again, Aurilla stepped into the breach. “President Marvel’s quite a musician,
you know.”
Spoons? Washboard? “I brought my cornet with me to the White House,” he boasted. “Still play it sometimes with the Marine
Band.”
They must just love that. My hand was beginning to sweat but Bobby held on through a long-winded paean to his cornet teacher.
“One in a million,” the president blubbered, eyes bright with tears. “I still think of him every day.”
I finally got my hand back. Nearly ran to the Corvette but my getaway was not quite fast enough. As I was buckling my seat
belt, a Secret Service agent caught up with me. “The president would like a word with you, ma’am. Just wait a moment.”
My usual reply would have been a fifty-foot swath of rubber. However, I was a member of the armed forces, he was my commander
in chief, so I walked dutifully to the car waiting in the shadows. No voters here, so Marvel didn’t need to act presidential;
in fact, he sat in the backseat with his legs curled, the better to massage the welt on his shin. I sat in the corner and
tried to appear awed. After Barnard’s video, it just wasn’t possible. “Hurt?” I asked finally.
“Goddamn brat. Did you like Mr. Schnizzler?”
Took a moment to figure out whom he meant. “Not really. It was a bad translation. Badly acted.” Bobby watched as I crossed
my legs. “Lousy night.”
The president suddenly leaned forward, chin jutting like a pit bull. At last he looked like the guy on fifty-cent postcards.
“Someone else was expected in that seat.”
As my heart thumped against my halter, warm French perfume blossomed in the dark.
Go! Now!
I leapt over the cliff. “Polly gave me her
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