Fadeout (20 page)

"Well . . . uh . . . it's nice to see you," Dave said. 

Madge cocked a quizzical eyebrow. But Anselmo answered her question. He started singing in the shower. Loud and clear. "'All the lonely people ... where do they all come from?'" Dave looked at the ceiling. But Madge began to talk. Fast. She steered Miss Levy far away to look at the Andy Warhol silk-screen in the dining space. Dave closed the bedroom shutter doors. "Care to join me in the kitchen while I make magic with gin and things?" He hustled them ahead of him, Madge eyeing him without amusement. 

"What a stunning kitchen," Miss Levy said. "The whole house. It's like something out of a magazine." 

"Several magazines," Madge said. "Several times." 

"Rod Fleming designed it." Dave got ice. "He was a friend of mine." He rattled cubes into a narrow pitcher and heard the shower stop. "Uh . . . excuse me for a second, will you?" He put the pitcher into Madge's hands and started past Miss Levy. "If you want to carry on, the gin is down there in—" 

Too late. Anselmo came into the kitchen. Running. Naked. "Listen, Dave. Now let's do it like—" His grin vanished. He tried to stop. He skidded on the wax bricks and sat down, mouth open, water trickling down his smooth brown Aztec face out of his black mop of hair. His eyes got very wide. "Oh, shit," he whispered. He looked at Madge. He looked at Miss Levy. He looked at Dave. Then he scrambled to his feet and ran. 

"Uh . . ." Dave said. 

"We appear ... " Madge set the pitcher down. She spoke lightly but with edge. ", . . to have arrived at an awkward moment. Shall we beat an orderly retreat?" 

"Look, Miss Levy," Dave began. "Into even the bestordered households—" 

But Miss Levy sidled past him and fled. 

"Don't try to explain." Madge caressed his face in passing. With menace. "I'll think of something." She retrieved gloves and bag from a chair. "Though it won't be easy." Her look said he was a traitor and a hypocrite. " 'Find some- one your own age,'" she quoted him. "'Someone of your own background.' Hah!" She followed Miss Levy into the sunshine. And paused. "Look at that gorgeous car." 

He looked. It came slowly up the street, rumbling like a big eat's purr. Red. Low slung. A Ferrari. He shut the door and ran for the bedroom. Anselmo was staring out the window, zipping his tight little flowered pants. 

"I am sorry," he said. "I didn't know. . . ." 

"Forget it." Dave kissed the dark wet hair. 

Anselmo hugged him and nipped his throat. "Let's do it some more." 

Dave laughed. "There's someone else coming now. We not only can't do it some more. I'm going to ask you to split." 

"Aw . . ." But he gave a little shrug then and sat on the floor and tugged on the soft fringed boots. He stood and stamped and his eyes were round and solemn. "Anyway . . . thank you for doing it with me once." 

"No, don't do that. Don't thank me." 

"It . . . wasn't good for you too?" Anselmo worried. 

"It was very good." The boy had draped his beads on a lampshade. Dave took them down and hung them around his neck. He turned him by the straight little shoulders, opened the door to the patio. Anselmo didn't go. 

"But him," he said, "the one with the crazy car. He will be good for you, no? He looks like Rod." 

Dave said, "He looks like Rod. The rest I don't know yet." The buzzer sounded. "
Adios, querido
." He gave the hard little butt a pat. And Anselmo went, small and silent and not looking back. For a bleak moment Dave stared after him. Then he went to open the front door. 

"I tried your office," Doug Sawyer said. "I found a Mr. Brandstetter all right. But he wasn't you." 

"I'm glad he sent you," Dave said. "Come in. Drink?" 

"
Merci
:" Sawyer followed him to the kitchen. "According to Captain what's-his-name-he of the little black cigars—I'd have come to a bad end if it weren't for you." 

While he poured ice-melt from the pitcher and replaced it with gin and vermouth, Dave said, "When you came in Ma Kincaid's back door calling his name, I decided you hadn't killed him. It made me wonder who had." 

Sawyer watched him tum the ice with a glass rod. "You make it sound simple." 

"It was crude"—Dave took glasses from the freezer—"but not simple." He poured and handed Sawyer a glass. No olive. Rod had hated olives. 

"Thanks," Sawyer said. "May I take you to dinner? It's not much in the way of repayment for having one's life saved." 

"It will do for a start," Dave said.