MAGIC (2 page)

They got out on the corner of 87th and First—her room was halfway in toward York—and on the corner, as he paid, she stopped and stared at the tiny jewelry shop that was closing up on the corner. She waved to the little man inside. “He’s very nice, Mr. Shaber, he lets me window-shop all I want,” she said when Corky came alongside.

“You do it a lot?”

“Before I go home.”

“Every night?”

She nodded. “Just for a minute or two.” She pointed to a lovely design of silver chains. “I always tell Mr. Shaber I’m saving for one.”

Corky took her into the shop. “Gold would look better on you,” he said. He pointed to a slender strand of gold. “Price, please?” he said.

“For the choker? Hundred and ten plus tax.”

“Fine,” Corky said and got out his wallet, put two hundred in cash on the counter, held out his hand for the choker. “Turn around,” he said to Miss Flanagan.

“Don’t you play games with me.”

“Turn around, that’s an order.”

She half turned. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can,” and he gestured for her to finish turning. When she did he put the choker around her throat, fixed the clasp properly.

She just stared at herself in the mirror, then at Corky. “Are you rich?”

He shrugged. “Not yet. Maybe I could be.”

Mr. Shaber returned with the change, handed it over.

Miss Flanagan was looking at herself in the mirror again. “It’s really mine?”

“Oh stop it.”

“You don’t think it’s too tight or anything?”

“I think it’s just the newness of the feel,” Mr. Shaber
told her. “Wear it awhile. I can always have it made a little longer if you decide.”

“ ’Night,” Corky said, and he opened the door for her.

As they turned onto 87th she said, “Thank you but I really want to know why you’re doing this.”

“I don’t know. You made me laugh when I was crying. I like to please people.”

“Have you done this kind of thing before?”

“Never. Probably never will again.”

“What can I do in exchange?”

“You don’t get it, May—we’re even now.”

“Can I at least make you some coffee?”

“I’m not in the habit of coffee-ing with strange women.”

She laughed, touched the gold. “It does feel tight.”

“Probably just the newness.”

“Will you have coffee?”

“I’ll walk you to your door. Maybe you’ll change your mind, not want me inside.”

“No. I trust you.”

“Everybody does.”

“Is there any reason they shouldn’t?”

Corky felt his eyes go cold. “Not for me to say …”

I’m not about to knock Georges or Dame Agatha off their thrones, but right from the start, as soon as I saw the thing, I knew it was weirdo time. I asked, as casually as only I can, what the fuck it was.

Corky shrugged, as casually as only he can. “Just a thing. Choker I think they’re called.”

“And we’re wearing gold this year, is that it, Hermione?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Possession is nine-tenths, schmucko.”

He looked at me. “Please. I would really appreciate it more than you can imagine if we don’t pursue this.”

“I’m not pursuing, who’s pursuing, but when somebody spends what must be a grand for a hunk of jewelry, can you blame me since I’m only known far and wide as being that somebody’s manager, for being a little interested?”

“It didn’t even cost hardly a hundred.” Corky got out a cigarette. “Want one?”

I said sure and we smoked awhile.

“Don’t do this, huh? I asked please,” he said finally.

“Just smoking is all I’m doing,” I told him.

“It’s the silence.”

“You want I should put on my tap shoes and do my Annette Funicello routine?”

“It was just an impulse. I bought it for Miss Flanagan, she’s an old lady.”

“Oh I believe that. I get those impulses hourly. I’m acquiring the Taj Mahal for the milkman tomorrow.”

He’s starting to pace now, inhaling tense and deep. “It was too tight for her. She asked me to take it back. The jeweler said he’d loosen it but when I got to the store he was shut so I’ll take it in later.”

“Why the impulse?”

He looked at me. “You’ll make more out of it than I feel like just now.”

“Why the impulse?”

“You just gonna keep on saying that?”

“Throughout eternity, Heathcliff—why the impulse?”

He wouldn’t look at me and he was talking lickety-fuckingsplit. “I was at the Frick, I was listening to the fountain, I started to cry, Miss Flanagan works there, she got me out of my mood, I felt I owed her something, no big deal, see?”

“You
cried?
In
public?
”

“I knew you’d make more—”

“—just hold it—day before yesterday, you play Babs Stanwyck and get a migraine—which just happened to be the day the agency called and said there was some tv interest. The next day, weeping, which just happened to be the day the agency called again to say things were starting to simmer on the tv deal.”

Corky put out his cigarette. “Why couldn’t this legendary Miss Flanagan take the choker back to the jeweler herself?”

“I volunteered.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you’re hiding something.”

“What would I be hiding?”

“I don’t know—call the Frick and get her on the phone—”

“—no reason—”

“—all right,
I’ll
call her. Flanagan you say?” I start to dial information for the Frick.

He’s got his hand on mine, stopping the dialing. “She won’t be there, I just remembered.”

I waited.

“She was going on vacation. That’s right. She won’t be back for a while. She told me that. While we were having coffee. I just remembered now.”

I still waited, staring at him.

“I want you to say you believe me.”

“Oh Laddie, ’course I do,” and I hit the sincerity with all I had and he bought it Then I did a quick subject change. Creasey or Erle Stanley would have probably kept hacking away, but who can deal with those kinda consequences, not me. I mean, what if it was all a lie? Or worse, what if it was all true, and he’s losing control bad, tears for the world to see. Or worse, what if it’s kind of true. And there is a Miss Flanagan. Or was, maybe, till yesterday …

Doublespace.

The Wisdom According to Fats Entry for: 12 October, 1975

The Contents of This
Entire Journal Will
Be Listed As:

POLICE EXHIBIT D

“In that book, y’know, you kill me.”

Corky looked at the fat girl, smiled. He took her arm when the light changed, guided her across 66th Street.

“Did you read it?”

“
Looking for Mr. Goodbar
?” Corky shook his head. It was almost midnight and they hadn’t even gotten to her place yet.

“But you know about it?”

“Sort of by default; any girl in a singles place brings it up sooner or later. I guess by mentioning it they figure they’ll ward off evil spirits.”

“Are you an evil spirit?”

“I wish I was that colorful,” Corky said.

She didn’t smile or anything.

Corky stopped on the sidewalk. “Hey, you’re very frightened.”

“Um-hmm.” Then: “Should I be?”

“I’m very gentle,” Corky said, very gently. Then: “All my victims say that.”

She still would not smile.

“Now you please listen, okay? It’s late, and you’ve probably got to get up early for work tomorrow, and there’s no
law
says we’ve got to do anything at all, either with or to each other. Let me walk you to your door and we’ll call it quits. Or I can leave you here if you’d like.”

“Are you always so considerate or is it an act?”

“I don’t know. It’s an act.” He thought about that. “No, it isn’t.”

She started walking. “Come on,” she said. “I trust you. Why do you think that is?”

Corky shrugged. “People do.”

“Always?”

“Pretty much.”

“To their regret?”

“You’re still frightened.”

“I’m down to edgy.”

“Have you ever been picked up before?”

“That’s what’s so crazy, this is my forty-sixth time.”

Corky broke out laughing.

“Why is that funny?”

“I don’t know; the accuracy surprised me.”

She gestured to the canopy just ahead. “I’m in there.”

Corky escorted her to the door. There was an old man asleep inside, clad in what was once a uniform. “Up to you,” he said.

She studied his face. “You don’t even remember my name, do you?’ ”

“You
said
your name was Diana, but you probably lied.”

She sort of smiled, did nod. “On the money. Really I’m Fern.” Now she looked at him. “I’ll bet you’re not really Charles, though, are you?”

“It takes a lot out of you when you lie, so I try to avoid it whenever possible. Charles Withers, that’s me. Most everybody calls me Corky.”

“I can’t make you out.”

“You’re not supposed to, Diana slash Fern. My God, I’ve spent a whole lifetime getting my disguise on straight, you think I want just anybody seeing through it without at least a little effort?”

“I’m not just anybody.”

“I can tell that, Fern my beloved; it’s really quite apparent, Diana my sweet—you take longer making up your mind than just anybody. But we are now in
the crunch. Do we go up or do we part? Because we have prattled enough in this October night and frankly, although I don’t know you well enough to be poetic, my ass is freezing standing here.”

She gestured inside. “Oh, we go up. We always go up. Almost always anyway. I just like dragging things out if I can.”

“Well feel proud, you’ve done royally.”

“Corky? You were never an ‘almost.’ ”

“Gratefully received,” Corky said.

“You talk nice and I like your face,” Fern said. She glanced up at him. “Besides,” and for a moment, she paused.

Corky waited.

“You look familiar …”

“You’re still dragging things out,” Corky called from the bed.

Inside the bathroom, the sink went off, the door half opened. “What?” Fern from behind the door.

“You are awaited,” Corky told her.

“Give me one sec more; I’ve got a cleanliness thing, you don’t mind?”

“Just so you wear the spike heels and the rubber suit, I’ll forgive anything.”

She laughed, closed the door. Again, water from the sink.

Corky lay on his side, studying the door, wondering if he should have picked up the one with the body instead. Fern had a pretty face in spite of her flesh, but the other one, the one two stools down, had been splendidly stacked. Corky had wavered, wondering which he should try for, and from the way the built one had watched him, he felt there was a decent chance she would prove accommodating. But something about the aggression in her, some shoulder set perhaps or maybe just the way she gripped her glass, made him decide no. The one with the body looked like a libber—“you can screw me, buddy, but lemme
tell you, you’re gonna
suffer
”—and he was in no mood for grappling.

The sound of the sink continued. Nothing to do but wait. Corky waited, eyes now closed.

Corky blinked. The little poem always had a way of surprising him, arriving almost unbidden from somewhere inside. No matter what girl he slept with or how many, at some point Peg would appear, just to let him know she was still around.

“Duh-dumm.” Fern stood in the doorway, pretty face shining, a large towel held in front of her large body.

“Worth the wait,” Corky said.

She nodded toward the bed lamp on his side. “I’m the shy type.”

“You haven’t got a corner on the market, I’m still wearing my underwear.” He flicked the room into darkness. She crossed to the bed with the speed of familiarity and then she was beside him. He reached for her, pulled her close.

She touched him. “You aren’t either wearing anything,” Fern said, surprised, for a moment, childlike.

“Trying to make you happy.”

“Make me happy.”

Corky was gentle with women. He had started late, and when he first began socializing, that gentleness was probably born of plain blind panic, but it seemed to work well, and it came naturally to him, so he never felt the need to change. Now, slowly, he began touching Fern’s body, the tips of his fingers tracing mindless patterns on her skin.

“Fern,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Try and remember one thing.”

“Tell me.”

“This isn’t a dentist’s appointment.”

“Am I that tense?”

“I would say so.”

“It takes me a while to get in the swing of things.”

“I’ll be right here waiting.”

“Listen?”

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry, usually I relax faster.”

“Time is not one of our major problems,” Corky said, gently and soft, and then he kissed her, kissed her again, ran the tip of his tongue along her neck. She reached for him, held him too tight, feigned passion. He waited for her to unclasp and when she did he began the soft touching again, his fingertips moving constantly now, circling her breasts, moving around without quite approaching, and she held him again, this time the passion less feigned, and they kissed, she relaxed a bit more, and now his fingers grazed her soft breasts, touching the flesh, not the nipple, keeping a fine rhythm going until her nipple began to distend and harden and

“Corky?”

“Shh.”

“No. Really. Listen, I hate people who ask ‘what are you thinking’ but what are you thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I did something wrong, didn’t I?—that’s why you hesitated?—what did I do?”

“A girl I had a crush on, that’s all.”

“When?”

“I haven’t seen her in fifteen years.”

“So why’d you think of her now?”

‘For sustenance’ he couldn’t say. ‘Because I always do’ wasn’t much better. “I guess you must remind me of her,” Corky said.