Dixie said, “The roommate. Jesus Christ.”
Vincent said, “I promise you, anything she knows is hearsay and anything I find out I’ll tell you, so…”
Dixie said, “What about?” and hesitated. “I don’t know if I should ask…”
“When in doubt,” Vincent said, “don’t.”
“If you brought your gun.”
“Yeah, you can ask me that.”
“I better not,” Dixie said.
JACKIE SPREAD HIS ARMS OUT in welcome. He said, hey, this was a special occasion. Not only the boss, the boss’s wife coming into his humble office. This was the first time, wasn’t it, the two of them? And they’d been open almost a year?
“First timers,” Jackie said, “I make ’em a bet. Name a major star, I mean a top attraction that’s ever appeared in Vegas, Tahoe or Atlantic City. You don’t see that star’s photograph on the wall here, personally inscribed, I’ll give you a hundred-dollar bill. Standing bet.”
Nancy said, “Sit down, Jackie. Please.”
Coming on like the lady of the manor, low-key, Jackie didn’t like the feel of this one bit. He glanced at Tommy. What’s going on? And the boob gave him a shrug, innocent, then straightened as his wife looked over at him, Nancy not missing a fucking trick. Jackie tried another approach, see if he could loosen things up, clapped his hands and said, “How ’bout a drink? Who’s ready? Honor of the occasion.” Tommy lit up but kept his voice in control, said hey, why not? Tommy had never turned down a drink in his fucking life. Jackie handed him a glass from the mirrored wetbar behind his desk, got a beer and the ever-ready pitcher of martinis out of the fridge… “Nancy?” No, she was fine, thank you. Cunt. Sitting with her knees locked together, manila envelope on her lap- something in there she was going to spring she cut out of the Wall Street Journal or one of those. Tommy left the glass on the edge of the desk to drink out of the can. They were a pair. Jackie took a nice big bite of the ice-cold extra-dry martini, sat back in his leather chair and felt soothed. Fuck her. What could she do to him?
Nancy said, “Is that a martini?”
A couple of answers came to mind immediately, but Jackie said, “My tastes are simple. Sure you won’t have one?”
He watched her shake her head, slowly, giving him the stare. It was a shame, good-looking stylish broad-he’d lay five to one she was frigid, have to pry her legs apart to get at it. She said, “No, but go ahead, if it relaxes you…” She said, “You’re not afraid of it becoming a problem?” With that innocent look.
Jackie said, “That’s what I am, as a matter of fact, a problem drinker. Take a drink when I have a problem and it goes away.”
It seemed to lighten her up, but not much. She said, “My first husband drank martinis.”
And Tommy said, “Kip Burkette. You know, Burkette Investments in Philly? Used to be very big, go back a hundred years. Nancy married Kip and joined the Main Line, high society, man.
Jackie grinned, pretty sure Tommy’d already had a few this morning. He was safe now, it was past noon.
“Actually I moved up the Main Line,” Nancy said, “from Narberth to Bryn Mawr. Not to school, I went away for that, Emerson in Boston. I thought I wanted to be an actress, but found out I wasn’t very good.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Jackie said.
Nancy shrugged. “Getting back to Kip, he was a sweet guy. Loved ducks.”
“Is that right?”
“All his neckties had little ducks on them. He was quite a nice-looking man.” Nancy paused. “But not very bright.”
“He didn’t have to be,” Tommy said. “Burkette Investment Bankers, that time they were worth a couple hundred mil, easy.”
“Kip liked dogs too,” Nancy said. “He had one, a golden retriever named Lance. Every morning at breakfast Kip used to read market reports out loud, the closing prices of stocks he was watching. He’d pause after each quotation and look at Lance. If Lance snarled it meant sell. If he woofed and wagged his tail, obviously it meant buy. Kip swore by Lance, even when he began to lose customers.”
Jackie held his grin for several moments, waiting. He said, “You’re putting me on.”
“Kip was at the Merion Cricket Club one afternoon,” Nancy said, “at the bar, of course, with his Beefeater martini. He was telling someone he’d just met about Lance. The man’s reaction was much the same as yours. Was Kip serious? Kip said to him, ‘I kid you not.’ One of his favorite expressions. And fell over dead.”
Jackie said, “Jesus.”
“Acute alcoholism, but they called it something else. Lance died not long after. He was hit by a car.”
Jackie said, “Ouuuuu.”
“But not before I’d unloaded all my Burkette Investments stock,” Nancy said. “Got out before it bottomed.”
“You were lucky.”
“Is that what you think?”
Jackie said, “You mean you saw it coming.” She nodded and now he wondered if she meant watching Kip drinking himself to death or the dog getting hit by the car. What was she trying to tell him? Now Tommy was getting into it.
Tommy saying, “Right after that was when Nance went to work at Bally’s, learn the business where it’s the state of the art. Have some fun, too. But this little girl’s a fast study, man. She’s told me a few things about the floor I never even knew.”
Mistake. Jackie knew it immediately; he saw Nancy’s expression tighten just a little, a hairline crack in the facade.
She said, “I wonder if I’m attracted to alcoholics,” and Jackie wanted to get out of here, right now. “I don’t know if I’m fascinated because I don’t understand them, or it’s a negative attraction, I’m looking for trouble.”
Here we go, Jackie thought. He watched Tommy shift around in a deliberate, half-assed dramatic way to give his wife the look. Called, Not Taking Any Shit from the Little Woman.
“I know what attracted you to Kip,” Tommy said. “Money money money. You couldn’t make it as an actress-hey, but don’t give me that shit you never act.” He said to Jackie, “She plays the superior rich broad you’re suppose to believe never takes a crap like everybody else.”
Nancy said, “What attracted me to you, Tommy, your wit?”
Jackie felt he should move in. “Come on-you two’re the perfect combination I ever saw one. The lady and the tiger. Nifty Nancy and Tom Terrific.” Not bad.
Except Tommy wasn’t listening. He was staring hard at his wife, trying to back her down with a look. Which Jackie could see wasn’t working worth shit. Dumb schmuck. He should never’ve called her “this little girl,” talked down to her like that. Now he was giving her another tune.
“While you were on the Main Line there, love, hanging around the old Cricket Club, waiting to get the poor guy’s dough, I wasn’t exactly working as a shoe clerk. I had a hotel-casino operation before you ever went in one.”
“I know that,” Nancy said. “You’ve worked hard.”
“Bet your ass.”
“And you’re smart enough to hire good key people.”
Jackie waited for her to look at him but she didn’t. Tommy was saying, “Well, gee, thanks a bunch. I thought maybe I was a total fuckup.”
“Not yet, but you’re close,” Nancy said. “I’m not sure if it’s your drinking-I know you’re not paying attention-or you’re in over your head and you really don’t know what’s going on.”
Tommy said, “Je-sus Christ,” shaking his head at Jackie. “She dealt blackjack, worked the floor… Anything you want to know about a casino, Jackie, ask her.”
All Jackie wanted to do was get out. He had a button under the desk that buzzed in the Moose’s cubbyhole and would bring him running, but then what? He said, “Listen, you two want a argue, whyn’t you wait till you get home? Okay? I got work to do.”