Karp rocked back and forth on rubbery legs. He had stopped feeling his face a long time ago. “Cooking … meat,” he said. He tried to think about why he was sad, but couldn’t quite recall the reason. It was hard enough to keep Marlene’s face, her flying black hair, in focus, and to remain upright. Grace Slick sang, her voice like copper pennies on the tongue: “When the truth is shown, to be just LIES, and all the joy within you DIES, don’t you WANT somebody to love, don’t you NEED somebody to love, wouldn’t you LOVE somebody to love, you better FIND somebody to LUH-UH-UV!”
Karp thought this made good sense. He made a clumsy grab for Marlene and squeezed her to his breast.
“Oooof! Hey, Karp, take it easy! This is so sudden! God, Karp, what a sweathog! Yecch!” She spun away and danced around him. He stumbled after her through the whirling couples, like King Kong stalking the blonde.
“May I have this dance?”
Marlene found herself dancing with V.T. Newbury, looking elegant in a white dinner jacket.
“V.T.! Where you been?” She fingered his lapel. “What’s with the getup? Trying to make the peasants feel bad?”
“Only a true peasant could have made a remark like that, my dear. No, actually, I’m coming from a wedding reception. My cousin Phootie.”
“Phootie? Be real, V.T. Nobody calls themself Phootie.”
“One does, if one is rich enough. Actually, there’s a charming family story about how she got that name, but I’m pledged to reveal it only to Episcopalians. Good Christ! What’s wrong with Karp?”
Karp’s head and shoulders could be seen over the crowd. His jaw was slack and he had a curiously intent expression on his face, the kind imbeciles wear when they are trying to remember how to tie their shoes.
“I don’t know,” said Marlene. “I think he’s drunk.”
“Karp? Drunk? Impossible. Where are the networks, the cameras?”
“No, he’s whacked out, V.T. Maybe we should get him to sit down.”
“No that’s absolutely the wrong thing to do. Keep him on his feet and working, that’s the answer. Speaking of which, I have just the job. Come on!”
The two of them shoved through the dancers to Karp and led him out of the Gym.
“V.T., where are we going?” Marlene asked. Karp was docile and softly humming to himself.
“Just down the hall to the men’s room.”
“What! V.T., what the …”
“Now, Champ, you know you’ve been longing for this opportunity. It’s your ultimate rite of passage into the closely guarded world of male supremacy. Ah, here we are.”
V.T. opened the men’s room door with his foot and shouldered Karp in. Marlene followed, cursing fluently.
Roland Hrcany and Denny Maher were standing in the corner by the towel dispensers, looking speculatively at what first appeared to be a pile of clothes.
“Hi guys,” said Hrcany cheerfully. “We’re just waiting for the ambulance. Denny called Jerry Lipsky at Bellevue and he’s sending one over. The problem is, it probably isn’t a good idea to have it come right up to One Hundred Centre, so we’re going to have to drag him a couple of blocks away and make the pickup there.”
“I’m going to start screaming if somebody doesn’t tell me what’s going on,” said Marlene, her voice rising threateningly.
“Calm down, Champ,” said Hrcany. “Look at this.” He turned the pile of clothes over to reveal a face like a spilled quart of cottage cheese (large curd) attached to a corpulent, three-piece-suited body.
“Hey, it’s Sheldon the Shit. Far out! Is he dead?”
“No such luck, dear,” replied Maher. “My preliminary analysis shows that Sheldon, who was, by the bye, uninvited to our party, has overindulged in my famous punch.”
“Yeah,” said Hrcany, “I was in here taking a leak, the door crashes open and Sheldon comes in, opens a booth, gets down on his knees to puke, and passes out in the bowl. I had to save him from drowning.”
Marlene said, “And here I thought you just looked like a lifeguard. Did you give mouth-to-mouth?”
Hrcany made a face. “Give me a break! But then it occurred to me that here was a God-given opportunity to help Sheldon out, kind of show him the error of his ways. And of course pay the asshole back for all the times he’s left us holding the bag. Denny, for your information, Sheldon Ehrengard is generally considered the chief prick lawyer in this office …”
“No, Wharton is,” said Marlene.
“I don’t consider Wharton a lawyer,” continued Hrcany, “but anyway, Debra Tiel, down in the Complaint Room, calls him the laziest white man in North America. Hey, Butch, you remember the night in the Complaint Room, when he didn’t show up and we got bombed? Butch?”
Karp was swaying gently back and forth like a poplar in a gale. “What’s wrong with Karp? We need him for this plan.”
Maher peered into Karp’s glassy eyes. “Ah, he’s all right. It’s merely the ill effects of years of clean living and regular exercise. The man can hardly drink at all.”
“Wait a minute,” said Marlene, “what’s Butch got to do with this?”
“Beast of burden, dear,” said Maher. “And I’m sure that were he in his right mind he’d be glad to cooperate. As you can see, Sheldon is a considerable tub of lard.”
“Hey guys, the ambulance is here, over on White and Baxter. Holy shit? What are you doing here, Ciampi?”
Guma had burst in, still in his hula outfit, but with a suit jacket thrown over his shoulders in the manner of Italian movie directors. The debonair effect was marred by the magenta bra peeking out from between his coat lapels.
“What am I doing here? You rat! You promised you were going to teach me to pee standing up. Hey, nice set of jugs, Goom. You’ll blow them away at Brighton Beach this summer.”
“Ciampi, one of these days … ah shit, let’s get him out of here.”
In the manner of an animal trainer, Hrcany coaxed Karp into picking up Ehrengard’s elephantine legs. The other four men arranged themselves around the massive form, and with Marlene in the lead as door-opener they marched out of the building and into the night, giggling and humming the Dead March. What in any other city would have been a remarkable procession drew hardly a glance on the still-crowded streets of Chinatown. The ways of the round-eyed barbarians are inscrutable.
Once at their destination, the City Morgue, they removed Ehrengard’s clothes and laid him on a stainless steel autopsy table. It was chilly in the big room, but Guma had-with his usual foresight-brought along a full bottle of Teacher’s, which passed among them until it was empty.
“Great party, Denny,” said V.T. “Nice place. I like the lighting.” He gestured to the half dozen real corpses lying on tables for next morning’s scalpels. “I like your friends, too. They’re a laid-back bunch.”
Maher grinned and pulled a sheet over Ehrengard’s body, and tied a toe-tag to his big toe. “Thank you, Newbury. Now, who will say a few holy words over the dear departed?”
“I’ll do it,” said V.T. “Dearly beloved …”
“No, Jewish, Jewish,” said Hrcany. “Let Butch do it. Butch, make this kosher.”
“Naw, Karp can’t do it,” Guma said, “he’s so fucking assimilated they revoked his bar mitzvah. He had his foreskin surgically reattached. Besides he’s too pissed.”
“Sure he can do it.” Hrcany shook Karp gently. “Butchie. Wake up. Say something Jewish so we can get out of here.”
“Joosh?” said Karp.
“Yeah, say the Ten Commandments.”
“Manments?”
“C’mon Butch, say the first commandment, c’mon think! Thou shalt … thou shalt …”
“Never …”
“That’s right, good, never what?”
“Never … never … ah … never pay retail.”
“A-men! Ah rest mah case. Let’s go. Night-night, Sheldon.”
The party was still humming when they got back. The punch was nearly gone, and two hundred people were poised on the delicate boundary between total abandon and utter psychophysical collapse. But this was not lively enough for the Mad Dog of Centre Street. Guma had no difficulty in talking Proud Mary out of the key to the evidence locker. Soon the crowd had liberated a pile of films confiscated during the great Pornography Campaign. Someone was thoughtful enough to have been caught stealing a 16 mm. projector, which was dragged out and set up.