The Straight Man - Roger L Simon (19 page)

"Well, well, Art Koontz, comedy's friend. Can't
keep this man away from the yucks. You ought to try the Catskills on
your next vacation."

"Actually, I just stopped by on my way back from
the Learning League. I'm taking this terrific course in integrated
business software. You should try it. It's—"

"Save it, Koontz."

"AII right. All right. But don't say I never
gave you any sound advice. Maybe you'd listen if I were that fancy
headshrinker of yours."

"At the moment, I doubt it."

"Well, that's an improvement. Anyway, I'm glad I
saw you, because it's going to save me a phone call. If you continue
to muck around in the King case, I'm going to have to get a
restraining order."

"You're what?"

"
Look, it's nothing personal, but this isn't a
situation for the little guy. Everybody's in it now—the FBI, the
DEA. They issued another warrant this morning."

"For whom?"

"King King. According to the U.S. Attorney's
office, thanks to information we brought them, he's nailed up the
giggy. But you know what? He wasn't there. As of yesterday, just
about the time his brother butchered Bannister, the great,
impregnable King King flew the coop. Remarkable coincidence, isn't
it'?"

"Any leads?"

"Leads? He's probably down on Copacabana Beach
fucking little girls until his pecker falls off. Great justice, huh?
Or do you sympathize with him, too, just because he's b1ack."

"Ease off, Koontz."

"The DEA's going up the wall. Ten fucking years
they've been trying to get that scumbag. Ten fucking years! They find
you mucking around in this, they'll hang us both out to dry before
they even know your name. So, my old friend"—he tapped me on
the arm—"I'm serious about that restraining order. Stay out of
this one. In fact, do yourself a favor and get out of this racket
altogether. You're a bright boy. This is the eighties. Most of your
old comrades are running corporations by now. Think positively.
Think—"

"Don't tell me. Integrated business software."

"Right," he said. And got out of the car.

I made a U-turn for his edification, as if I were
heading home, but then doubled back a few blocks off to pay a
surprise visit to Emily Ptak. Cars were in the driveway and the
lights were on when I arrived at the Tudor estate at the end of West
Wanda. I parked in front of the guard gate and pressed the intercom
button. I was answered in a few seconds by the voice of the nanny as,
simultaneously, I saw a video camera go into surveillance mode. Life
in the big city.

"May we help you?"

"
Yes. My name is Moses Wine. I used to work with
Mrs. Ptak. I know it's late, but it's very important that I ask her a
few questions."

"One moment, please."

I stood there a few minutes, staring into the
darkness before the voice came back on.

"I'm sorry. Mrs. Ptak is reading her daughter a
story and does not wish to be disturbed."

"Tell her I'll wait."

"I don't think that would be advisable, Mr.
Wine."

"Tell her there are some problems to resolve
regarding her visit to the Bonaventure Hotel the day before
yesterday."

The intercom went silent again. After a longer wait,
the gate opened. I got back into my car and drove through, pulling in
behind an Audi diesel that looked about two months old. Emily was
waiting at the door when I got out. She was wearing a maroon
housecoat with gray piping and she looked tired.

"Hello," she said, her voice as cool as dry
ice as she led me inside, making a quick left turn into a
pine-paneled den that was right off the foyer. The room was lined
with books and framed memorabilia from the career of her deceased
husband. She shut the door and pointed to a leather armchair. "Let's
make this brief. As far as I'm concerned, we have nothing left to say
to each other."

"We never said much in the first place. Emily,
how was your relationship with your husband?"

"Ambivalent. Ambivalence is the natural
condition of the state of matrimony. Surely you're old enough to know
that."

"Maybe, but I'm a romantic."

"What exactly do you want, Mr. Wine?"

"Who was the man with you in Room Seven-fifteen
of the Bonaventure?"

"That's my business."

"Emily, several capital crimes have been
committed here. Sooner or later there are going to be grand jury
investigations, trials. You're certain to be subpoenaed."

"My private life at the Bonaventure or anywhere
else has nothing whatsoever to do with any crime. Or is there a law
against having a libido in this blue-stocking society?"

"It's only curious that less than two weeks
after the death of your husband, you're having a hotel tryst with
another man. I would assume this was going on before he died."

"And?"

"And some ninety percent of murders take place
within the family."

"Among people who are ruled by their emotions.
I've spent five years and an embarrassing amount of money in this
obscenely privileged society of ours to make sure I am not. Besides,
I'm sure you're aware that we're all capable of loving more than one
person at a time. Sometimes with equal intensity. Our children teach
us that. It's just that some of us deny ourselves that joy."

"You learned that in therapy, no doubt."

"
Among many other things."

"Then if you've got this all so rationalized, I
don't understand why you had any objection to seeing me tonight."

"This whole episode is becoming more and more
bizarre and violent. Lurid. Right out of the National Enquirer. The
one great problem Mike and I always had was I hated the public life,
hated the exhibitionism. That probably drove us apart more than
anything. Right now it's driving me crazy. I can't stand it. I don't
want to hear any more about this. I don't want to think about it. I
don't want to see anyone connected with it. I just want to do my best
to forget the whole thing, hard as that may be, and disappear."

"
Then no more fancy benefits with Eddy
Sandollar."

"
I resent that, Mr. Wine. Those benefits exist
for a greater good. Not for anybody's personal aggrandizement."

"
And you'll keep your affair buried forever?"

"That affair is over. It ended that very day at
the Bonaventure. And I can assure you, it has no chance of
rekindling. Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to go back to reading my
daughter Babar. " She went and opened the door for me.

"
Can you answer one last question?"

"
That depends."

"Did you ever have sexual relations with Eugene
Nathanson?"

"There's no way I'd answer that. I believe the
therapist-patient relationship is the most sacred bond in our
society."

"Yeah. I wouldn't doubt you do." I started
out. "Did Mike know about your affair?"

"Yes. Of course. We were married since we were
twenty. He knew everything I did and I knew everything he did, even
when he tried to hide it. I knew about his insecurities, the girls he
fucked, his drugs, his debts, his self-destructiveness. He pissed it
all away joylessly because he didn't think he deserved anything.
There wasn't a penny left in his estate. Look it up in your records,
Mr. Detective. The only thing he left me was this house. And even
that's not worth much. It's on a fault."

"Then why were you so sure he didn't commit
suicide?"

"He wouldn't have had the guts. Good night."

She closed the door in my face, leaving me standing
there in the afterglow of her bitterness.

I was still feeling it when I unlocked the door of my
apartment twenty minutes later. I went into my bedroom and played my
messages. A private eye in Detroit wanted to know if I'd help him do
a skip trace on a deadbeat named Jack Luchese. My son Jacob needed
forty dollars for his Columbia application, and Nick Steinway called
to ask how it was going and to say they were sending over something
called a "deal memo" to sign concerning my short-term
employment with Global Pictures. I could call him at his office
tomorrow any time after five A.M. but not after six-thirty, because
that's when he went into a staff meeting and then went off to London,
Paris, and Tunisia and wouldn't be back in L.A. for thirty-six hours.
This guy made Sammy Glick seem like Krishnamurti.

I sank down on the bed and pulled a joint out of the
end table drawer. I was about to go into the kitchen for a match, but
fumbling in my pocket, I found a book. I started to light the joint,
when I noticed its jacket had a hand reaching out toward you with the
words I WAS THERE-COMEDIANS & CHEFS BENEFIT FOR AFRICA/24-HOUR
RELIEF HOT LINE-1-800-234-HELP. I lit my joint and dialed the number.
It rang once before picking up with a recording of a now familiar
voice. I could'hear what sounded like tribal drumming behind him as
he spoke: "This is Eddy Sandollar talking to you live from
Harar, Ethiopia. As I speak, rains have begun to fall, giving some
respite to this benighted land. But do not be misled by falsely
optimistic reports in the press. This is only a temporary lull in an
ongoing struggle of mammoth proportions. We need nothing less than a
Marshall Plan for Africa. It's our planetary responsibility.

Whether you pray to Buddha, Jesus, Yahweh, or the
Spirit in the Sky, I know you will want to join me on this crusade
against world hunger. At the sound of the beep, leave your name,
number`, and the time that you called, and one of our volunteers will
contact you for your pledge the next working day. Namaste. "

Beep.

"This is Moses Wine, 555-4273. Tell Mr.
Sandollar to call me."

I hung up and lay back on the bed, stopping first to
punch "play" on my video deck. The Best of Mike Ptak was
still in the machine, and the dead comic doing a George Bush
imitation flickered onto the screen. I didn't know who was more
boring—the original or the copy. But the net result was the same as
my last attempt to study Ptak's work: within five minutes I went
crashing off to sleep.

"Wake up! Wake up! I've got it!" said a
voice, dimly piercing through my dream state. I forced my eyes open
to see Chantal bursting with excitement, pacing at the end of my bed.
It was just past two A.M. "I figured it out. Boy, was I
brilliant. I mean, I usually don't toot my own horn, but tonight I
killed them. They were on the floor. Stella Resnick's thinking about
putting me in for a solo. Screw that esoteric Franco-Canuck garbage.
This is the real thing, a unique act—comedienne/private eye. By day
you're a bloodhound on the case and by night you describe all the
weirdos you met while you were doing it. It knocked their socks off."

"
It what?" By now I was sitting up in my
bed with my eyes wide open.

"
Hey, what're you so excited about? I told you I
figured it out—B for B. It just came out of my mouth while I was
free-associating. That's how it happens in stand-up. When you're
cooking, things just pop out."

"
Now wait just one second. You're telling me you
were standing in front of a public audience at the Fun Zone giving
intimate details of our investigation?"

"Well, not in any particular order. I mean, I
don't think they could possibly—"

"Who the hell do you think you are? That's the
most unprofessional thing I've ever heard! You have no idea who was
out there."

"
You have no right to tell me what to do."

"But I do! You work for me and your behavior is
ridiculous. You can't go around—"

"I didn't give away anything."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know? I was the one who was there . .
. oh, the hell with it." She went into the bathroom and grabbed
her things, muttering as she came out again. "I was right in the
first place. Mixing business and private life makes a mess of
everything. So I think for both of our sakes we should just break it
all off right here."

"What?"

"I'm leaving."

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"I'm not a charity case and if you don't trust
the way I do things, as far as I'm concerned, there's no point. So
good-bye."

"Good-bye."

She started out of my bedroom, then stopped for a
moment by the door. "Oh, as you may recall, Nastase was a
Romanian. So it should be obvious: B for B is Bibles for Bucharest."

She closed the door and left.

17

When I tried Chantal the next morning, the phone was
off the hook. Later on, I got a machine. Fuck it, I thought. We're
all neurotics. It's hopeless. And I went into the shower.

I had just finished drying myself when Koontz called.

"Your girl friend put on quite a show last
night."

"She's not my girl friend now."

"Oh, yeah? That's interesting. The way she was
describing you on stage, she made you sound like a combination of
Humphrey Bogart and John the Twenty-third. But that's none of my
business. Anyway, she did put the icing on that restraining order. It
should be in place in about fifteen minutes. Sorry about that. Look,
I know this sounds like the Lonely Guys Club, but if you aren't doing
anything Thursday night, that integrated software class—"