target?”
The governor squints to get a better look at Basie’s woman. “How do you mean?”
“Well, we’re putting in all these shelters and silos, right, and this is where the bombers are made,” Roger says reasonably. “And the Soviets didn’t want an exhibit, didn’t want to be here, period. So is there anything LBJ or anybody else told you beyond what the papers say?”
“Hard to know,” Big Ed says sheepishly. “I don’t read the papers.”
After the governor finishes flattering Basie and ogling his date, he meanders off. Then Roger grabs another whiskey and plops down across from the bandleader.
“What makes a city great, Mr. Basie?”
“To tell the truth,” he says in a deep voice, “yours is a bit white for me.” His ice-sucking woman joins him in a smile.
“That’s changing,” Roger says. “What do you look for in a city?”
“The right amount of sin, I guess. Not too much, not too little. Excitement without corruption. Though they’re all corrupt, right?—least the ones worth living in. You can get anything you want here in ten minutes, so I’m told.”
“So I’m told,”
his woman mimics, then laughs an ice cube right out of her delighted mouth that skates across the table and spins in front of Roger, who pops it in his mouth before she can apologize—her ringed fingers suspended in midair astonishment—and realizes as the laughter rises and he swallows the ice that he’d better not have another drink.
The lounge fills with yet another wave of boozy VIPs and favor seekers. Surprisingly, the fair’s arts director is still around, smoking while waiting in line for the restroom. He ambles over and asks her how the moderns are faring versus the classics.
“You mean the
pompous trivia
?” she says.
It wasn’t just the deep tone of Meredith Stein’s voice that stood out, but its swagger.
“That
Times
critic is an idiot,” he says. “The mods are marvelous.”
She smiles warily. “I agree, of course, but most don’t.” He watches her slow exhale. Beamy and full-cheeked, she’s straddling the line between chubby and voluptuous with the devil-may-care confidence that alcohol gives some people, one spiked heel toppled to the side so her left foot can rub the wall behind her like a cat clawing a couch. She switches the black cigarette holder to her right hand and swings a diamond into view as if she was reading his mind.
“I’d love to spend some time with those paintings when nobody else is around,” Roger hears himself saying, noticing the perfect print of her lips along the rim of her half-empty glass.
Laughter crests behind him, but her eyes don’t let go. A thickeyebrow rises, her puffy lips loosen around the long cigarette. Out comes more smoke. “It’s your fair.”
“Well no, it sure isn’t, but I’d like to just the same. I think, by the way,” he says, gently but positively, “that one of your Pollocks is upside-down.”
On the way out, he watches the strip-club guy cornering Governor Lopresti. He feels he ought to protect Big Ed, but he seems to be enjoying himself, so Roger strolls by them and through the closed fairgrounds and waves down a taxi.
“Just visiting?” the cabbie asks before he can spit out Linda’s address.
He pictures her waiting for him, her hair in curlers, puffing a cigarette, flipping through fashion magazines. “Yeah,” he says now. “Here for the fair and whatever else I can find.”
“What you lookin’ for?”
“Whaddaya got?”
The cabbie laughs, pulling away from the curb. “Had this fat guy climb in here a week ago and ask me where the flagellants are. That’s right,
flagellants
. I couldn’t help him, but I can probably get you what you need. Something for your head? That’s easy. If it’s girls, let me know if you want young or old. It gets pricier the higher you go up the hill. The best of the eight houses I know of is near Broadway and Harrison. Actually got red carpet in there—New
The governor squints to get a better look at Basie’s woman. “How do you mean?”
“Well, we’re putting in all these shelters and silos, right, and this is where the bombers are made,” Roger says reasonably. “And the Soviets didn’t want an exhibit, didn’t want to be here, period. So is there anything LBJ or anybody else told you beyond what the papers say?”
“Hard to know,” Big Ed says sheepishly. “I don’t read the papers.”
After the governor finishes flattering Basie and ogling his date, he meanders off. Then Roger grabs another whiskey and plops down across from the bandleader.
“What makes a city great, Mr. Basie?”
“To tell the truth,” he says in a deep voice, “yours is a bit white for me.” His ice-sucking woman joins him in a smile.
“That’s changing,” Roger says. “What do you look for in a city?”
“The right amount of sin, I guess. Not too much, not too little. Excitement without corruption. Though they’re all corrupt, right?—least the ones worth living in. You can get anything you want here in ten minutes, so I’m told.”
“So I’m told,”
his woman mimics, then laughs an ice cube right out of her delighted mouth that skates across the table and spins in front of Roger, who pops it in his mouth before she can apologize—her ringed fingers suspended in midair astonishment—and realizes as the laughter rises and he swallows the ice that he’d better not have another drink.
The lounge fills with yet another wave of boozy VIPs and favor seekers. Surprisingly, the fair’s arts director is still around, smoking while waiting in line for the restroom. He ambles over and asks her how the moderns are faring versus the classics.
“You mean the
pompous trivia
?” she says.
It wasn’t just the deep tone of Meredith Stein’s voice that stood out, but its swagger.
“That
Times
critic is an idiot,” he says. “The mods are marvelous.”
She smiles warily. “I agree, of course, but most don’t.” He watches her slow exhale. Beamy and full-cheeked, she’s straddling the line between chubby and voluptuous with the devil-may-care confidence that alcohol gives some people, one spiked heel toppled to the side so her left foot can rub the wall behind her like a cat clawing a couch. She switches the black cigarette holder to her right hand and swings a diamond into view as if she was reading his mind.
“I’d love to spend some time with those paintings when nobody else is around,” Roger hears himself saying, noticing the perfect print of her lips along the rim of her half-empty glass.
Laughter crests behind him, but her eyes don’t let go. A thickeyebrow rises, her puffy lips loosen around the long cigarette. Out comes more smoke. “It’s your fair.”
“Well no, it sure isn’t, but I’d like to just the same. I think, by the way,” he says, gently but positively, “that one of your Pollocks is upside-down.”
On the way out, he watches the strip-club guy cornering Governor Lopresti. He feels he ought to protect Big Ed, but he seems to be enjoying himself, so Roger strolls by them and through the closed fairgrounds and waves down a taxi.
“Just visiting?” the cabbie asks before he can spit out Linda’s address.
He pictures her waiting for him, her hair in curlers, puffing a cigarette, flipping through fashion magazines. “Yeah,” he says now. “Here for the fair and whatever else I can find.”
“What you lookin’ for?”
“Whaddaya got?”
The cabbie laughs, pulling away from the curb. “Had this fat guy climb in here a week ago and ask me where the flagellants are. That’s right,
flagellants
. I couldn’t help him, but I can probably get you what you need. Something for your head? That’s easy. If it’s girls, let me know if you want young or old. It gets pricier the higher you go up the hill. The best of the eight houses I know of is near Broadway and Harrison. Actually got red carpet in there—New
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