Danny Dove was a spare man whose gestures were bigger than he was. They had to be to control dozens of dancers, including giraffe-tall showgirls.
"I'll do a total takeoff of the 'Broadway Melody' shows of the thirties," he said, separating his hands into the frame of a proscenium stage. 'The backdrop will be wallpapered with chorus girls kicking their little asses into next week against a Big White Set. You know, kaleidoscopic knees and such. That's what you intended, right? The overdone approach. Do you dance?"
Danny Dove's dark eyes zeroed in on Temple's legs in such a professionally assessing way that she could not take offense, though Crawford Buchanan's monkey-see scan was distinctly unwelcome.
"Yes," she said. ''I mean, I don't dance, but I did envision an over-the-top production."
''One thing." Danny Dove scratched an angry pimple on his five-o'clock shadow. "We might be smart to lay off on a few things."
"Oh?" Temple's voice had moved into cool neutral. She wouldn't tell Danny Dove how to block a ballet; she hoped he wasn't about to tell her how to write a revue.
"This mob stuff, isn't that rather old?"
"That's the idea. It leads into the 'Luck, Be a Lady' part of the number."
"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn what it leads into, it's such a hokey concept. The mob.
I've been in Vegas for over fifteen years and the only mobster who's set tacky wing-tip in this town since then is the figurehead from Little Caesar's pizza chain."
"The skit satirizes all of the legendary forces that shaped and tried to control Las Vegas,"
Temple said patiently. "Crime syndicates were no laughing matter in the early days. Sure, musical comedy gangsters don't run this town, anymore than a secret government alien-intelligence installation sits under the new Luxor's pyramid. Let's just have some fun and pretend all the cliches are true."
Danny Dove shrugged. "It's your show, but I hate to put my dancers into those tacky brown zoot suits with white ties" His blase face brightened. "I could have the ladies wear just the jackets and skip the baggy pants, though, and do a bluesy Kelly nightclub number." He came as close to a smile as a choreographer who was a combination of Tinker Bell and General Patton ever could. "Yeah. It would play."
Danny Dove retired nodding and happy. Too bad Crawford Buchanan had suffered no such mood change.
"Maybe he's right." Crawford's deep voice burst in the air right next to Temple's left ear like a bad-news bomb.
She tried not to jump, and tried even harder not to jump into a defensive position. That would be sure to cement Crawford's irritating objections.
"I think so too," she said sweetly. ''His notion for the Gangster Guys and Dolls bit sounds terrific."
"Yeah, a lot of leg is always good, but maybe we should soft peddle the mob angle."
''Why? Everybody agrees they don't exist, right?"
"Sure, but--" Crawford leaned uncomfortably close. "Maybe we shouldn't aggravate 'em, just in case."
"This is a satirical show." Temple's voice was rising to match her aroused temper. "It's supposed to aggravate everybody!
Maybe I should write out the alien enclave; that might make E.T. phone home with a complaint about stereotypical misrepresentation.''
Crawford visibly thought about it, nodding solemnly. "The UFO people do take this stuff pretty seriously. And the Luxor might be annoyed. Not to mention the government."
"The Luxor should be delighted with the publicity. The UFO people will feel vindicated to be even mentioned! The government can't do anything about conspiracy theories because they're everywhere in real life. This is only a stage show, Crawford. For Helen Hayes's sake, don't take it so seriously."
"Easy for you to say. I'm in charge of this show. You're just a hired hand."
"Thank you for explaining the facts of life. May I stay a while and watch?"
He looked around as if searching for government toadies to okay her request. "I guess so, but you gotta promise not to meddle."
Temple folded her arms over her chest, which Crawford had been concentrating on rather too much. ''I won't if you won't," she promised.
And on that unpromising note, the rehearsal began.
An hour later. Temple took the back stairs up to the hotel's main floor, just to hear the angry clatter of her high heels on hard cement.
The rehearsal was so preliminary that they barely got through two phrases of her script at a time. She had expected that.
She had not expected Crawford to sit beside her, whining with worry over every phrase.
How on earth do you put on a satirical revue if you're afraid of offending someone? She fussed to herself. And why was Crawford so worried about offending people at this late date? The notion had never troubled his tiny little mind before.
Temple was huffing and puffing by the time she emerged in the service hall, another reality that ruffled the temper that went with her red hair. She wasn't used to climbing stairs.
Then who should be awaiting her but a brace of Fontana brothers?
Temple blew damp bangs off her slightly clammy forehead. And Crawford said the mob was dead in this town. Who did he think these boys were, the sales reps for 31 Flavors?
"Miss Barr," the first Fontana brother said with a friendly smile.
''Ralph?" she asked.
As he shook his dark head, she saw the golden glint of an earring. This must be the reason why Ralph considered a bloodletting for his earlobe. Big Brother had already done it.
''Emilio. Not to worry. We get mistaken for each other, don't we, Rico?"
He eyed his swarthy clone in a pale suit, who nodded. No earring. In response to Temple's inquiring look, Brother Number Two jabbed the Southwest-colored silk tie making like Monet's water lilies on his chest. "Rico. Van said to see if you needed any help.''
"What kind of help would I need?"
Brother eyed brother. "I do not know," Emilio finally confessed to her, ''but we are here to provide it, whatever it is."
Temple sighed. These Doberman dandies would not be called off until they had performed what they saw to be their duty.
''Actually, I haven't seen much of the gaming area. I'm relatively new to Las Vegas; all these craps and baccarat rules confuse me. Maybe I could use a crash course."
"Say no more." Rico held up a palm with the aplomb and authority of a grade-school crossing guard who was dressed by Nino Cerutti. "Emilio and I are experts at games of chance."
"We are also tops at escorting babes in Toyland," Emilio added.
"I believe you mean 'babes in the woods,' " Temple said.
"Whatever." Rico shrugged. "Babes is babes."
"I am not that kind of a babe," she said firmly. "I am a self-supporting professional."
The boys' eyes widened like windows. Temple realized that they had taken her too literally, or not literally enough. Either way, she was getting a headache.
"Show me everything from the slot machines to the craps table. I need to start at square one."
"Hey," Rico admonished her, adjusting the knot on his tie. "There is nothing in the least square about you, Miss Barr."
It was a square knot, of course.
**************
Temple had to say one thing for the Fontana brothers. They were generous to a fault, spending deeply of their own pockets to demonstrate the hazards of slot machines, video poker, blackjack, craps and other forms of gambling.
Temple had never paid much attention to the inferno of noise and humanity that eddied in the casino areas. Sure, she had shoved a few nickels into the odd slot. That was about all she ever got out of it: a few nickels and a slot where the odds were never even.
She was pleased to see Fontana, Inc., strike out at the slots as rapidly as she had.