“You’re a nice, funny man, sir. What do you complain about?”
“Bad guys getting away,” said Milo. “Where’d you meet Tony? And don’t say ‘around.’”
“Around. Hee hee – okay, okay, don’t give me that evil look, I met him at a party. Wannaboo party up in the hills.”
“What’s a wannaboo?”
“A gentleman who pretends he’s pretending.”
“To be a girl,” said Milo. “As opposed to your homegirls at Gordito’s.”
“My homegirls are girls no matter what the government say. My homegirls are la femme in the brain, where it counts.”
“Wannaboos-”
“Wannaboos don’t even try. For them the thing is ugly. Ugly wigs, ugly dresses, ugly ugly shaving bumps, square shoes. They don’t got the bones. The deli-ca-cy. For the wannaboos it’s Halloween Parade then back to the suit and tie on Monday.”
“A costume party,” said Milo.
“Not even, sir. They don’t even try.”
“Where in the hills was this party?”
“Some place near the Hollywood sign.”
“Above Beachwood?”
“I don’t know streets. It was a long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Six months?” said Tasha. “Could be five? I talked to Tony but I went home with a lawyer. That was a house, all the way in Oxnard, by the water, to get there we drove and drove and the air smelled all salty. I won’t give you his name no matter what you do because he was sweet. Sweet and old and lonely, his wife was sick in the hospital. Next morning he cooked waffles with fresh bananas and I watched the sun come up over the water.”
“Also a wannaboo?”
“No, he was a straight.”
“There were straights at the party, too.”
“Girls, wannaboos, straights.” Giggle. “Maybe kangaroos.”
“What was Tony?”
“Straight. I thought he was the gardener or a plumber or something. Came to fix the toilet.”
“He wore a uniform.”
“Sloppy,” said Tasha, as if it were a felony. “Wrinkled Dockers, sweatshirt that said Aloha. Very low-classy.”
“How’d you end up at the party?”
“Some girl asked me. Germania, that’s the only name I know. High-water but white, went back home a few months ago. Talked about her daddy having two wives in Utah, the stepmother was real accepting, but her own moth-”
“How many people were at the party?”
“Thirty? Fifty? People all over the house. The girls looking hot, the wannaboos like a buncha grammas, the straights trying to figure out what to do.”
“Who owned the house?”
“Never found out.”
“How’d you hook up with Tony?”
“He was sad.”
“And…”
“Everyone else partying, he’s sitting there complaining to this wannaboo. Wannaboo listens for a while then ups and leaves Tony all alone. Tony looks sad, I’m a nurturer so I sit down next to his poor self. He starts complaining to me, we take a walk. Up the road, but we heard coyotes. I got scared and we went back.”
“No coyotes in Fontana?” said Milo.
“Lots of coyotes, that’s why I got scared, sir. I seen what they done to the chickens.”
“Tony was complaining about…”
“What I said, sir. Le monee. He used to live in a nice place then his back discus made him all messed up and his mama wasn’t helping him no more, called him a bum.”
“He said all that to the other wannaboo?”
“I heard the word ‘money’ before I sat down. That word always gets my ears unfolded. When we were walking he got into his mama mistreating him. Said she pulled the rug out, he was the only child, why would she do that.”
“Angry?”
“More like sad. Depressed, even. I said you should try the Prozac or something. He didn’t answer.”
“When he complained to the wannaboo, did the wannaboo seem to be listening?”
“I guess… yeah, he was looking straight at Tony, nodding like I hear you, bro. Then all of a sudden he gets up, like he heard enough.”
“Bored?”
“No, no, more like… like it was too sad.”
“Describe the wannaboo?”
“Bigger than Tony. Not as big as you, sir.”
“Heavyset?”
“Hard to tell with those clothes. I’m talking tweed and it was warm. Like… like… one a those movie gramma things, Gramma’s a cold Waspy bitch? Stockings with seams up the middle.”
“How old?”
“He was trying for biddy, all that makeup, the gray wig. Coulda been thirty, coulda been fifty. Lots of them do that, make like Come to Gramma. Like comfort food, you know? If having a gramma who don’t shave her legs and got a face like a toilet lid gives you comfort – where are we, never been this far.”
We’d traveled two miles east of her stroll.
As we approached Rodney, Milo said, “Pard, why don’t you turn?”
I drove by Tony Mancusi’s building. Milo watched Tasha’s face. Tasha appeared to be sleeping.
Hooking a left on Sunset, I said, “It’s kind of interesting, Tasha. Tony complains about his mother to a guy trying to look like a mother.”
“Hey,” said Tasha. “I didn’t think a that.”
Milo said, “What’s this guy’s name?”
“If I knew I’d tell you, sir, I truly would.”
“Big, thirty to fifty. Give me more details.”
“Ugly, sir. Puffy face, the red shiny nose like he’s been drinking all day and all night… um um um… glasses. Pink plastic glasses. With the rhinestones. Biddy glasses – oh, yeah, natural nail polish.”
“Eye color?”
“Don’t know, sir. That long ago, all I really can remember is the ugly. Working at it, you know? Gray wig like a dishcloth, tweed two-piece, all baggy and heavy – green velvet trim.” Retching sound. “Shoes you could step in mud no one’s gonna notice. Like a scarf’s gonna fix all that?”
“He wore a scarf,” said Milo.
“Only pretty part of the whole on-sombel,” said Tasha. “Purpley, gor-juss. Louie Vee-town. What a waste.”
As I continued through East Hollywood, into Silver Lake and Echo Park, Milo pressed for more details on Tony Mancusi’s confidant, got nothing. The lights of downtown came into view.
Tasha yawned.
Milo said, “Here’s a picture of a guy we know.”
“Hairy bear,” said Tasha.
“Could he be the wannaboo?”
“Take a clippers to him, maybe I could tell you.”
“Try to look past the hair.”
“Sorry, sir, I want to be honest. Too much coiffure.”
“Did you get a sense Tony and Tweed knew each other before the party?”
“Tweed, heh, yeah that should be his name. Never saw him or Tony before, never saw him after. Never went to another party up there. Because my sweet old lawyer told me not to. Wanted me all to himself when he’s in town. Backed it up with le money. Still does.”
“But you still have time for Tony.”
“Too much free time’s a bad thing, sir. Nothing’s for free.”
“What gets Tony off?”
“Being sorry.”
“For himself?”
“That, too, sir, but I was talking apologies.”
“For what?”
“Everything,” said Tasha. “Taking up my time. Comes in wanting what he wants and then after he gets it, he’s all Prozacky frowny-frown, says he shouldn’t be doing it, he’s really not like that.”
“Denying he’s gay.”
“Tony’s mind, he’s never gay. You call him that, he gets cranky. He figures he likes me ’cause I’m a girl, he only likes girls. A lot of them are like that. Want to have it and eat it, too.” Laughter.
“How often does he see you?”
“Most often was once a month, sir. Then it stopped. Tonight was the first time in like… three months? Could I go back? Please? I don’t know this part of town, don’t like being where I don’t know.”
Milo said, “Sure.”
I found a driveway, did a turnaround.