“So you’re going to have a slumber party?” Neal asked. “Would you like me to go back out and get some popcorn, some stuff for hot-fudge sundaes, maybe an all-night supply of nail polish? I have to tell you, Karen, I thought they pretty much worked things out when Mrs. Landis called Polly a whore and Polly expressed the opinion that Candy was a, quote, ‘frigid, ball-busting bitch.”
“That was the female equivalent of a fistfight,” Karen explained. “They’re talking now.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Neal,” said Karen. “For starters, if it were me, I think I’d like to know if my husband of twenty-odd years was a rapist.”
“Or a father,” Neal said.
“Shit, I forgot.”
“You forgot?” Neal asked. “How you could forget something like that!”
“Well, there was a little excitement around here, you know.”
Candy Landis came to the doorway. She looked tired and somewhat chastened, not at all the superwife she was on television.
“If that invitation is still open, I’d like to take you up on it,” she said shyly.
“If you can handle a foldout sofa,” Karen answered.
Candy nodded and stood perfectly still in the doorway.
After a few moments, she said, “I think this has been the worst day of my life.”
Karen held out her arms and Candy slid into them. Karen cuddled the sobbing Candy while Neal sat there paralyzed by this female display of emotion and feeling about as comfortable as a pork chop at a bar mitzvah.
The crying had settled into sniffles by the time Polly came in.
“Guess what, everybody?” she screeched. “I’m going to have a baby!”
Candy broke into sobs again.
“A baby!” Karen said, then she started to cry.
Neal left the three hugging, weeping women, went into the bathroom, and threw up. None of them even noticed when he slipped out to Brogan’s.
Graham leaned his back against the painted brick wall and talked into the phone.
“I’m telling you, I’m staring at his ugly face right now,” he said. He looked across the crowded floor of the Lone Star Cafe, where Joey Beans and his muscle sat at a table trying to chat up a leggy blond urban cowgirl and her redheaded friend.
“And you’re sure it’s him,” Ed said.
“It’s the same guy I saw get out of the limo,” Graham said. “It sure as hell looks like Joey Beans.”
“And you saw him talking with Jack Landis,” Ed prompted.
“Are you going to repeat everything I tell you?” Graham asked. “Because this conversation is going to take a long time if we have to do it twice.”
Maybe, Ed thought. He’d spent the whole damn night poring over the accountant’s report, and it didn’t look good.
“If I have to kick this up a level, I need to be sure,” Ed answered.
“You want a positive ID?” Graham asked. He was getting irritated.
“I want a positive ID.”
“I’ll get you one,” Graham said, and hung up the phone. He worked his way across the room, sidling past cowboy boots and under cowboy hats, until he was at the bar. He ordered and got a glass of beer and leaned back to check out the scene.
This was no mob hangout. The crowd was young and affluent. The denim clothes were new and hadn’t been faded by days of work in the sun. These were honky-tonking duds, from the matte finish of the well-blocked Stetsons to the shine of the boots.
The jukebox was hammering out a Texas two-step, so Graham had a hard time hearing anything, but it looked like Joey was making some progress with the young lady. At least she found him amusing-she was leaning forward listening to him and laughing, and Joey had a smug man-of-the-world look on his face as he made big gestures with his left hand and laid his right hand on her arm.
Graham found an empty chair and dragged it over to Foglio’s table.
“You mind if I join you?”
The four of them looked a little surprised, but they were just drunk enough to give it a whirl.
Joey checked to make sure that the blonde was listening, then said, “I knew there was Sleepy, and Dopey, and Sneezy, but I didn’t know there was a dwarf named Stumpy. Hey, I got friends in Vegas; maybe I can get you a job as a slot machine.”
Harold and the blonde laughed. The redhead looked a little embarrassed. Foglio looked very pleased with himself.
“I want to tell you all a story,” Graham said.
“Hey, we got our own court jester!” Foglio bellowed. “Stumpy the Clown! You ladies want to hear a story from Stumpy the Clown?”
Graham smiled at the young women and sat down. He leaned over the table and waited for quiet. The four partyers looked at each other, smiling and laughing, and then Foglio made a go-ahead gesture with his big hands.
“Once upon a time,” Graham started as the women chuckled, “in a city far away, there was a young man named…” Graham looked up at Foglio. “Joey,” he continued.
The party laughed again.
“How’d you know?” Foglio asked, looking enormously pleased.
Graham shook his head to dismiss the question, then went on. “Now Joey was a poor young man. He lived in a small apartment with his old mother and old father and life was very hard. But Joey was a determined young man with broad shoulders, a strong back, and big muscles, and he was resolved to make a better life.”
Graham paused to take a sip of beer. He noticed that people at the next table had stopped their conversation and were listening in.
“So Joey went to see the king,” Graham said.
“The city had a king?” the blonde asked.
“Every city has a king, darling,” Graham continued, “and the name of this king was… King Alberto.”
Graham noticed that Joey was smiling, but an edgy look had come into his eyes.
Graham raised his voice to include the people at the next tables and continued: “And Joey said to King Alberto, ‘Your Majesty, I am a poor young man with a poor old mother and a poor old father, but I have broad shoulders, a strong back, and big muscles and am willing to work very hard for a better life. May I come and serve you?’
“And the king answered, ‘Joey… I know your poor old mother and your poor old father and they are poor but honest. What can you do to serve me’? And Joey answered, ‘I can walk all around your kingdom, Your Majesty, and collect your taxes,’ because every shop in the city had to pay tribute to the king.”
Graham smiled at Foglio, who didn’t look so jovial now.
“Then what happened?” asked the redhead.
“So Joey went to work collecting taxes for the king,” Graham said. “He went from shop to shop collecting taxes, and everything was going just fine until…”
“Until what?” Harold asked.
“Until one day Joey went to collect taxes from an old man who owned a vegetable stand.”
Foglio’s face turned deathly white.
“This better be a funny story, Stumpy the Clown,” he said.
Graham held up his hand for silence. He had quite an audience now.
“When Joey asked the old man for money, the old man said no. Joey asked again, and again the old man said no. Joey was getting very angry, because he knew that his job with the king was on the line. So he demanded the money… and the old man said, ‘I don’t have to pay tribute to the king.’
“Joey lost his temper. He knew he had to teach this old man a lesson. So Joey, who had a strong back and broad shoulders and big muscles, tipped over the vegetable cart. Then he grabbed every crate and picked them up and threw the vegetables all over the street, called… Sullivan Street.”
“Shut up, Stumpy,” Foglio hissed.
“Hush!” the blonde said, and slapped Foglio’s arm.
“By this time,” Graham said, “a large crowd had gathered. They were shocked at what they saw, but Joey was very proud, and he shouted, ‘This is what happens to anyone who refuses to pay tribute to the king!’ And then… suddenly… standing there in Sullivan Street… was King Alberto himself, looking very angry indeed, and he asked, ‘Did you do this, Joey?’ And Joey was very proud and said, ‘Yes, Your Majesty, I did!’