Hot Ticket

by Janice Weber

  “I’ll come back for it.”

  His warm, heavy fingers closed around my wrist. “Tonight?”

  Great confusion, greater lust: I had to get inside that mouth again. “I don’t know.”

  He watched me get frisked but he didn’t watch me leave. Great drops of rain pelted his stoop as I ducked into the armored limo, where Bobby was relaxing with a beer. Tie gone, shirt unbuttoned: he looked whipped. “Hey, sugar. Was that your chaperon out there with you?”

  I flopped into the opposite seat. “You’re getting a little bold, aren’t you?”

  “Paula’s in Seattle tonight with Chickering. Fausto knows when to keep his mouth shut.” Bobby handed me a glass. “You drink gin, if I recall. What did you tell him?”

  “That we were going for a ride.”

  Bobby looked moodily out the window. “Come sit next to me. I won’t bite.”

  Maybe not, with a driver and a Secret Service agent on the other side of the partition. I slid across the abyss. “Coming from a fund-raiser?”

  “No, I was at the hospital with Bailey. Poor bastard is nothing but a big blood blister. How he can still breathe is beyond me.” Bobby inhaled his beer. “I wish he’d die. Put himself out of his misery.”

  “How much longer do you think he’ll hang on?”

  “No one knows. His doctors are astonished.” Bobby fell silent as great sheets of rain drummed the roof. “He was my friend. We go back a long way. Matter of fact, your boy Fausto introduced us.”

  Tread lightly, Smith. “Really? Where?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got an hour. Where are we going?”

  “Just for a drive,” Bobby sighed, abnormally flat. “As you wished.”

  Poor schmuck. They all wanted to lead the world, inspire fear and awe in millions, and at the end of the day, when that charade collapsed of its own weight, they always came crying to mama. I tossed back the gin, patted my lap. “Put your head down. I’m listening.”

  He didn’t need a second invitation. Bobby kissed my navel. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

  “You don’t play the violin.” The downpour outside slowed the limo to parade pace as I stroked his hair. “So how’d you meet Jojo?”

  “It was a long time ago. We were still in college.” Bobby closed his eyes, taking a few moments to arrange events with optimal spin. “You don’t know this, but I used to date Justine Cartot. She was a very hot lady then. I guess she still is.” Couldn’t argue with him: just two nights ago Bobby had been boffing her on top of Fausto’s piano. “She had been studying in England on a Rhodes Scholarship. I came over for her graduation.”

  “That was kind of you.”

  “Actually, the purpose of my trip was to tell her I’d be marrying Paula.”

  “If Justine was such a hot number, why were you marrying Paula?” I pulled his hair. “Never mind. So Justine was expecting to become Frau Marvel?”

  “Welllll.… we had been going out since we were twelve.… She may have been counting on it. So I took her out for dinner and broke the news. Then you know what?” Bobby chuckled. “She shot me.”

  “Jesus! In the restaurant?”

  “No, no. In a field.”

  “Aha. One last roll in the hay, then you told her. Weasel.”

  “It was wrong, I know it. I should have written a letter.” Bobby smiled up at me like a kid who had just caught a touchdown. “Aren’t you going to ask where I got shot?”

  “Where you deserved it, I’m sure. And I’m not interested in seeing your scar. Didn’t the neighbors hear something and call the police?”

  “It was late. She only fired once.”

  “Where’d Justine get hold of a gun? It’s a little tougher to carry one in England than it is over here.”

  “You know, I never had the heart to ask. But I suspect Fausto. He has a talent for giving ladies their heart’s desire.”

  I frowned. “What does this have to do with you meeting Jojo?”

  “Okay, okay, I’m shot and bleeding badly. Realizing what she’d just done with her slightly illegal weapon, Justine called her doctor friend. His name was Louis Bailey. He was studying medicine at Oxford. In ten minutes he arrived with Fausto.” Bobby’s face nuzzled my thigh. “Who was a little slimmer back then.”

  “What was Fausto doing in Oxford? I thought he studied in London.”

  “Maybe he had a concert. In any case, they brought me back to Louis’s flat. The two of them slapped me on the kitchen table and went to work. Bloody mess. Justine missed my femoral artery by half an inch. Afterward, Fausto drove me back to London. I stayed in his place until I could walk again.”

  “Some nurse he must have been.”

  “Nurse, hell. The next day Louis dropped by with his little brother Jojo, who got baby-sitting detail. Louis and Fausto took off.”

  “Where to?”

  “They didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Fausto flew me home in his private plane and managed to convince Paula that he had accidentally shot me while we were fox hunting. It wasn’t a complete untruth.”

  Bobby owed him big time. Justine had a major IOU floating in the ether as well. “I guess you and Jojo got to know each other pretty well during your convalescence.”

  “Better believe it. Fausto’s apartment was bigger than Buckingham Palace. Women broke down the doors to get in. He must have had two hundred birds in his address book and they all showed up the next week.”

  Outside, rain. Inside, thunder as I imagined the young, slim Fausto and an army of eager women … bah. Maybe they had made him happy for a few moments. “Who knows about this little escapade?”

  Bobby counted on his fingers. “Just the four of us. And you.”

  Keep counting, honey: Maxine knew about it. So did Duncan. The ship wasn’t as tight as Bobby thought. “So why are you telling me?”

  “Because you asked. I suspect you won’t tell.” His smile disappeared. “And Jojo’s about dead. It’s one of those nights.”

  Bobby’s head vacated my lap as he got another beer. “I guess you’ve forgiven Justine,” I said.

  “She’s forgiven me is more like it.” Bobby burped softly as he lay down again. “We’re one big happy family. That includes your sweetie pie Fausto.”

  “Does it include Louis Bailey?”

  “I haven’t seen him in years.” Bobby shuddered, or maybe he was just trying to mash his nose a little deeper into my belly button. “Funny you mention it. I had a nightmare last night. I was back on Louis’s operating table. What was horrible wasn’t the blood or the pain but the look in his eyes as he bent over me. I think he likes to dissect living things.”

  “What was Justine doing with him?”

  “They went to concerts together. Louis was fanatic about music. He’d drive all night to see an opera. At the time, Justine was trying to swallow as much European culture as her cracker stomach could tolerate.” Suddenly Bobby laughed. “Know what Louis was talking about all the while he was operating on me? Bendix Kaar’s opera!”

  I needed another gin. “How’d Bendix get into this?”

  “Doesn’t Fausto tell you anything, sugar? They went to school together.”

  “Oh. Right. What was Louis saying about the opera?”

  “He was trying to get Fausto to burn it. Fausto said he couldn’t do that, Bendix had been working on it for five years.”

  Too bad no one had taken the doctor’s advice. “Did you ever ask Bendix about it?”

  “Hell no. Music like that is an embarrassment for life, like herpes. Everyone makes a few youthful mistakes.” Bobby smiled winsomely at me. “I just can’t figure out why Fausto had you play that awful thing last night. Aurilla was mortified. I had nightmares afterward. Bendix was ready to kill. Fortunately no one was listening.”

  “What can I tell you? Fausto picked the program. I assumed it was some sort of inside joke. All in the family.”

  “Hmmm.” Bobby closed his eyes. We rode in silence for a mile. �
�How well do you know Fausto?”

  “I met him a week ago.”

  “Is he screwing you?”

  “None of your business.”

  “You spend a lot of time over there.”

  “He’s a great pianist.”

  A half dozen deep breaths, all of my mons veneris. “Did Fausto ever tell you about our little chat in his airplane? No?” Bobby smiled dreamily. “We were flying back to the States after Justine shot me. Drinking champagne. I was all excited because I was about to marry Paula and enter my first election, for state senator. Suddenly Fausto dropped something into my glass. It was the bullet he and Louis had fished out of me. ‘Just a reminder that you sold your soul,’ he said. ‘What are you going to buy with the proceeds, now that you’ve ditched Justine for Paula?’

  “I told him I was going to be president. He looked me up and down, smiling in that twisted way of his. ‘Why would you want that?’

  “I said I wanted to be the most powerful man on earth.

  “‘Powerful?’ Fausto laughed. ‘You’ll be nothing more than a rat in a cage. The lowliest animal could take everything away from you like that.’” Bobby snapped his fingers. “I threw the bullet back at him. ‘Let’s see you try,’ I said. ‘When I’m president and you’re nothing but a piano player.’

  “Fausto said it was a deal. I never forgot that conversation because with every election I became a bigger rat in a smaller cage while Fausto just spread his wings over Washington. On inauguration night he came up to me and dropped something in my pocket. ‘Remember I’m just a lowly animal,’ he said with a wink. It was the bullet, of course.”

  “What’s he going to do?”

  “How would I know? But he’s had thirty years to think it over. God knows I’ve got skeletons in my closet and I’ll bet Fausto knows every damn one of them. I don’t think he’d hurt me, but I’m a poor trusting country boy.”

  “Maybe he’s just trying to keep you humble. Like he did with Bendix by playing that awful sonata.”

  “Oh, now Fausto’s our conscience? That’s a good one. Do me a favor, would you, sugar? Don’t tell him what I just told you. Let him think I was just huffin’ and puffin’ here like an animal. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Bobby dozed off. Two men asleep on me in two nights: I must be losing it. I let him be as our caravan rolled through the mist. We were making a big circle, heading back to Washington, duration of trip one hour precisely. Why had Bobby told me this adolescent tale? As Maxine had said, in this town subtext was god, and no one got to be president without mastering the art. Maybe, like Fausto, Bobby was toying with me, dangling the bait, waiting for me to snap at it.… The oddest thing about his behavior tonight was its reticence. Not one pass in fifty miles. But how would I react coming from the deathbed of an old friend? Wouldn’t my thoughts dwell on how we had met? How we’d soon part? Wouldn’t I want my head in the lap of a neutral stranger?

  Lulled by the rain and my soft belly, the leader of the free world lapsed into gentle snores. Poor guy should have become a car salesman, not a president. He just didn’t know what it was all about. In forty years he still wouldn’t know, because at heart Bobby Marvel was a people person, not a leader. He lacked a cold, hard core and the fangs to bite popularity in the face. Joke was, he’d get reelected for those very reasons. Ah, America. Maybe this lump in my lap was the best it could produce.

  We rolled along the watery highway. My thoughts became diffuse and runny as the windows of my glass cage. I wondered why Fausto had been so distant tonight. I wondered if Barnard had driven around in circles like this with Bobby Marvel and how she had handled him. I wondered why I hadn’t found Louis yet and why Bendix’s opera kept bobbing like a cadaver to the surface of an oily pond. And those purple orchids…

  A sudden cataract sprayed the side of the limousine. Looked out the window just in time to see the Chevy float insolently past.

  Maybe, through his ears, Bobby sensed my elevated pulse. He awoke with an erection and absolutely no memory of the previous fifty minutes in our mobile confessional. “Must have dropped off,” he said, drawing my hand to the storm in his pants. “Feel that, sugar. It’s all for you.”

  Next he’d be swearing he’d had a vasectomy. “Tell me something,” I said. “Does Paula know about this kind of stuff? Or doesn’t she ask anymore?”

  “Paula’s needs and mine are very different.”

  “That wasn’t the question. Does she know?”

  Bobby tried another tack. “I try to protect her feelings.”

  “That’s big of you.” I squeezed tumescence. “Did she know about you and Polly?”

  “God no! Blondes make her crazy!”

  “Did Justine know?”

  “Of course. She arranges everything for me.”

  “How does Justine feel about your ongoing harem? Sometimes you’re not too bright, Bobby.”

  He sat up. “I take good care of Justine. Always have. She knows where she stands with me.”

  I fiddled a little with his belt buckle. “How many times did you see Polly?”

  “See her?” Bobby thought about it. “Six.”

  “I said see, not screw.”

  “Six is the answer to both your questions. She wasn’t quite the puritan you are.” Bobby nosed under my pink halter and kissed my stomach. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  Six. They must have gone at it every night. “Where did you two get together?”

  “We met once at the White House. Four times at the country place. Once right here. She was fantastic.” Bobby rushed me to the cushions. “All this talk is making me horny.” He rolled on top of me. “I want you, sugar.”

  And I wanted one more piece of information, for which I was willing to get a little saliva on my nipples. I held Bobby’s ass, which felt surprisingly mushy, considering what I had seen in Barnard’s bathtub video. He weighed a ton. “Who owns the country place?”

  “Aurilla,” came the muffled answer.

  Aurilla? Damn.

  Bobby’s mouth left my breasts and headed south. Failing to master the zipper in my pants, he took care of his own. “Get these off,” he whispered, digging under my waistband.

  I locked my knees around his neck and flipped both of us to the floor. Luckily the president ended up on bottom. While he was staring at the ceiling like a stunned fish, I bit his earlobe. “I never fuck in backseats.” Rolled to my banquette and tucked the boobs back into the halter. “Put that poker back in your pants. Your hour is up.”

  He put a few fingers to his ear. “You bit me,” he cried when they came back bloody.

  I rapped on the partition. Nothing happened. I picked up the intercom phone. “Pull over, please. I’ll be getting out here. Thank you.”

  Bobby was still flat on his back as I unlatched the door. “Meet me in the country house,” I said. “Next time, try to stay awake.”

  Slammed the door and blew a kiss, as if my companion rode upright in the backseat like a gentleman. As the caravan pulled away, I started walking. Seconds later, Chevy reappeared. License unreadable, of course. Driver the same white male, alone. Sign at the first intersection put me at Sixteenth and Florida, not too far from the zoo.

  For effect I looked a few times over my shoulder before ducking into a long woods that led to the lions and tigers. City lights reflected off the clouds, mitigating the darkness: if my tail lost me here, I had nothing to worry about. Stayed close to Rock Creek for half a mile, listening for the occasional snaps and thumps in my wake. He was stalking all right. When we were deep in the woods, I bolted into the bushes. Let’s see how well you kept up now, pal.

  Wilder terrain, heavier night. Rock Creek Park was no jungle; it was no golf course, either. My tail was not only keeping up, but getting closer. I went faster, fueled by the first little licks of panic. Forests were my specialty. In my entire career no one had bested me on this turf but Ek, who was more animal than human … and Simon, who had cheated by wearing heat scopes. If the man behi
nd me were wearing those, he was probably carrying a gun as well. Damn, I should have screwed Bobby and called it a night.

  Craggy rocks ahead: closing in on the zoo. I scrambled up twenty feet and waited behind a sharp, very opaque boulder. Heard footfall, calculated distance to target, dove. Big bastard but I bowled him over. The fool wore a ski mask. We wrestled over a patch of soggy earth. No amateur but he was rusty, a millisecond dull, like an outfielder on opening day. He saw my nail file just before the tip of it disappeared beneath his collarbone. Not too deep: I didn’t want to kill the guy. Just deface him a little.

  Realizing I was about to yank off his mask, he clicked into overdrive. I got tossed to the rocks hard. Lost my wind, balance, nail file. Spun into a tree, saw comets behind my eyes: instantly I was on the receiving end of this fracas. As I dropped to my knees, head spinning, he reached into his jacket. I expected gun, knife, oblivion: instead he tossed something at my feet and ran off. I finally reached over: an orchid.

  With a soft whoosh, rain returned to the forest. Hauled myself to the top of the rocks and waited. Nothing. He was gone. Odd fight. Nonfight. Why the mask? God, my shoulder hurt. So did my tattered thigh. I was deeply tired, perhaps defeated, no longer invisible, no longer free. Why had he walked away without naming his price? What had he gained by revealing his existence? In my line of work, that was an incredible blunder. I could have led him to bigger fish, richer blackmail … evidently not what he wanted. What did he want, then?

  I dragged over to the zoo, to my pocket in the rocks. Stared at that crushed flower for a long time. It was my death warrant. Why should I be surprised? No one expected to last long in this profession. That was why most of us had joined in the first place: death by old age was proof of cowardice. Strange that the older I got, the more I saw of the sun, the more I played Bach and loved men, the more an early death seemed … proof of cowardice. The real heroines tried to live, to keep playing one last card against a dealer who always won in the end. Like that unseen woman laughing by the fountain the other night. I had desperately wanted to laugh like that again. The odds against it had just skyrocketed.

  Switched on my computer. If nothing else, I knew I was getting closer to Louis Bailey. Tonight Rhoby had said that rather than meet her deranged caller, she had notified the police. Outside her FBI window she had seen three men hauled into a paddy wagon: her caller and two assailants. The date, according to Maxine and thunderstorms, would have been September 5. I tapped into the D.C. police rap sheets. Bingo: at 0822 hours, Figgis Cole, Mohammed Jones, and Donelle Boozer had been booked for aggravated assault, willful destruction of a federal building, and resisting arrest. No one had posted bail but everyone had pleaded not guilty. The judge busted them to the district jail to await their case. I cut to the prison files. Three arrivals duly noted, but within the hour Jones and Boozer had become violently ill and had to be removed to the hospital down the street.