Cover-Up Story

by Marian Babson

  He hadn’t heard me come in. He jumped, but recovered quickly. ‘I always said we ought to stay out of the art game.’

  That was his story today. He’d been the enthusiastic one when the lady sculptor approached us a month ago and suggested that she was willing to pay a modest amount in order to get as much publicity as possible for her first one-man show in thirty years.

  We’d done all we could, but she’d hated most of our ideas. Gerry had wanted her to jazz up the show by scattering a few urinals, tastefully decorated, of course, among the general works. He’d pointed out, quite rightly, that it was the sort of thing that got critics enthusiastic these days. We’d nearly lost her then and there. She was a serious, solid lady, and her works were serious, solid figures of Earth-Mother types – the sort of thing that had had a brief vogue in the thirties. But she was sure that she had ‘something to say’ to today’s audiences. The show had opened this afternoon, while I was trying to get Black Bart and the Troupe from the boat-train to their hotels, and then on to the Press Conference.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She lost her temper.’ He turned away from the window. Three long jagged scratches ran down the side of his face. ‘I guess it took her by surprise, but she’d never have agreed if I asked her.’

  I waited.

  ‘Well, you know it’s the only way to get space these days. You know that Earth-Mother in the – uh – unfortunate position?’

  Practically any of them could be described that way, but I thought I knew the one he meant. I kept waiting.

  ‘I hired a bidet from a plumbing supply company and shoved it under the statue.’ He raised his hand and stroked the scratches gingerly. ‘The boys loved it. The show will be in most of the papers in town.’

  ‘But we won’t get paid for it.’

  ‘Well – uh – no. While I was trying to hold her off, I gathered that we were not only fired – we’d never been hired. But she’ll be written up on the news pages, instead of being tucked away in a couple of art reviews.’ He brightened. ‘Maybe we could sue?’

  He was a nice guy. He tried. Most damning of all – he meant well. Usually, I liked him. A feeling of great weariness descended on me and I slumped into the chair behind the desk.

  ‘Hell, Doug – I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d take it like that. I know this is a hell of a time to have this happen. With the sleeping partner’s brother in town, and all.’

  And all. And maybe ready to take over Perkins & Tate; to step in as boss and show us how to run the company. Why not? He could scarcely do worse.

  ‘Arrrgh! I don’t know why we keep trying!’ Gerry stubbed out the cigar, reached for another, and drew back. ‘People are always saying, “Where are the Great Press Agents? Why don’t we have publicity stunts like they used to have in the Good Old Days ?” ’

  He was the only one I’d ever heard saying that, but I just nodded. He’d read all the books about the Good Old Days. They’d gone to his head.

  ‘But I say, “Where are the Great Clients?” They’re all gutless wonders these days. They think reporting a jewel robbery is the way to get their names in the paper’s. Where are the Clients who’ll put their shoulders to the wheel and co-operate? Where are the Clients who’ll dress up in an Admiral’s uniform and review the Fleet? Who’ll cross Niagara Falls on a tightrope today?’

  ‘Blondin was a tightrope-walker to begin with,’ I put in.

  ‘Gone, all gone,’ he shook his head sadly. ‘Now they hand you a mug shot beaming over a birthday cake or an engagement ring and expect you to get headlines for that. Or a baby. How the hell can you get a four-column cut for a bratling, after the first shot with doting mummy in hospital?’

  It was a good routine. Perhaps Sam would be impressed by it. It isn’t our fault, it’s the Client’s. Everybody’s out of step but Gerry and Doug.

  ‘Oh, well,’ Gerry sighed, and raised his hand solemnly. ‘Never, never again, do we mention the name of that hyphenated-hag. No free publicity for her, ever.’

  I raised my right hand. ‘Never again.’

  ‘Enough of my troubles,’ Gerry said. ‘How did you get on with the Homebreakers – or whoever they are?’

  Despite the cheery front, his morale was too low for the truth. It might do me a world of good to confess my uneasy feeling that Black Bart and the Troupe were going to join the ranks of the Great Unmentionables – after doing us a lot of damage first – but I had to consider the business.

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  Because of my connections with Sam and Nate, I was to be liaison man with The Troupe. Gerry was to hold down the office and take care of any other assignments that might float in. He wouldn’t be able to do his best if he were wondering when the axe was going to fall on me.

  ‘Thank heavens that’s one place we’ve got an in,’ Gerry said soberly. ‘Marcowitz has them all tied up, and they can’t sack us – or refuse to pay.’ He was brightening by the minute. ‘Treat ’em gently, Doug, they’re our meal tickets for the next six weeks.’

  Before turning in, I tried to call Sam, but the hotel said he had gone out with Miss Harper and her party and they hadn’t returned yet. That didn’t surprise me. From the little I’d seen of Crystal Harper, I’d figured her more for Sam’s type. But I wondered how Bart would like the competition tagging along. If he reported unfavourably to Nathan, we might not have Little Brother watching us for long. It was a thought to cheer me briefly.

  In the morning, I managed to contact Bart, who sounded none too happy at being disturbed at the crack of dawn – otherwise known as eleven a.m. – and put my idea for a few paragraphs about Zeke and the Conjure Woman to him. He wasn’t delighted at the thought of anyone else in the Troupe getting any publicity but, after half an hour, he reluctantly agreed, probably just to get me off the phone.

  After that, I did some fast telephoning, then scrawled a longhand Press Release for Penny to type when she came in.

  After that, it was time for me to show willing at rehearsal.

  It wasn’t the Palladium, but it had its points. It was close to the centre of London, it had a good stage with decent acoustics, and it had been available. It also had a large auditorium – and we’d be lucky if we could fill it and keep it filled, particularly in view of the short notice Gerry and I had had of the imminent arrival of America’s Newest Sensation.

  Sam was standing at the far side of the stage, talking to Crystal and Lou-Ann when I arrived. The Cousins were rehearsing centre stage, and I wondered how they had become so popular – even as a backing group. And how Sam was going to tone them down for American television. I had the nasty feeling that the way they were gesturing with those guitars was part of the routine and, while it might get by on BBC-1, any American television station would black out the act. They like to keep things pure and untainted for the Bible Belt and family audiences over there.

  Sam was looking nervous, perhaps because Bart was standing nearby glowering at them all. Crystal was ignoring Bart – a little too obviously. Lou-Ann, in ‘comedy costume’, kept darting sidelong glances at Bart.

  Uncle No’ccount leaned against the wall, midway between Bart and the girls, whuffling softly into his harmonica, paying no attention to anything going on around him. Just an old no-account bum doodling musically until it was time for his cue.

  But he was the one who greeted me, who bothered to murmur that Cousin Zeke was feeling better now that the doc had seen him and would probably be all right for the opening, although not feeling up to the strain of rehearsals. Then he seemed to feel that he had done his duty, his eyes glazed over with a distant look and he went back to his harmonica. I walked over to join the others.

  Sam nodded to me absently, then went on with what he was saying. ‘Just try it straight. Just once. I tell you, it’s a mistake to hoke it up after that introduction.’

  ‘I don’t think I ought to change it,’ Lou-Ann said doubtfully, ‘it always gets good laughs.’

  ‘That’s the point –
you don’t want laughs with that number. It isn’t right.’ Sam sounded hoarse, as though the argument had been going on for a long time. Lou-Ann looked unconvinced.

  ‘Leave her be,’ Bart broke in. ‘Let her get the laughs – it’s what she’s here for. If you want the number to stop being funny, then give it to me to do. Or maybe Crystal.’

  There was a nasty silence, during which I had the illusion of watching wheels within wheels – all going round. I hadn’t much doubt about what Crystal did, and now it seemed she was going to be pushed into the act. Did that mean Lou-Ann, the ‘comedy star,’ was in the process of being pushed out?

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Crystal said. She had a nice voice, but it held the ineradicable twang of the Ozarks, betraying her inevitable beginnings in some hill country cabin. Somewhere along the line, she’d been educated, perhaps even sent to finishing school. But the finishing school hadn’t been one of the top-flight ones, and it had still been too far south of the Mason-Dixon Line. The Ozarks were in her voice to stay.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Bart snarled.

  ‘I don’t want a number,’ Crystal said. ‘I don’t want to be part of the act. I don’t want to go on stage.’

  ‘You shut up!’ Bart raked her with a lazy, proprietorial glance. ‘I’ll tell you what you want.’

  ‘Things better stay the way they are,’ Lou-Ann said. ‘We know where we stand, then.’

  ‘You think so, huh?’ There was menace in Bart’s darting look, and it stayed when he turned the look back to Crystal. ‘Where were you later last night?’ he demanded. ‘You weren’t in your room.’

  ‘She was with me, Bart,’ Lou-Ann cut into the awkward silence quickly. ‘In my room. We were playing gin rummy.’

  Bart looked at them both suspiciously. ‘I didn’t know you were so fond of gin rummy.’

  ‘Sometimes the notion takes me,’ Crystal drawled.

  ‘Yeah?’ He still wasn’t sure whether he could believe them, but they were presenting a united front. ‘Sure musta been an interesting game. I kept calling your room about every ten minutes till way after two in the morning.’

  ‘You should have called my room, Bart,’ Lou-Ann said softly. Her face was wistful. Bart ignored her.

  ‘There goes your cue,’ Sam said in a tight voice. ‘You’d better get on stage.’ His face was dead white, he didn’t look directly at anybody.

  So that was where Crystal had been last night! No wonder Little Brother was falling down on his watching brief. He was too busy playing with fire.

  With Bart onstage, Uncle No’ccount put away his harmonica and moved closer to us. He gave Lou-Ann a meaningful little nod – at least, it must have meant something to her. She flushed and smiled slightly.

  Sam had turned to face the stage, still pale, with slow fury smouldering in his eyes. I began to wish I hadn’t bothered to come this morning. This set-up was worsening every time I saw it. My sympathies were with Sam, of course. Even if we hadn’t been friends from away back, I’d have been on anyone’s side against Black Bart.

  ‘Looks like you have your hands full,’ I said to him. Onstage, the Cousins were gesturing with their instruments again.

  Sam winced and nodded glumly. ‘Nathan wants me to get the act more sophisticated before the Agency shows it to the Client. He wants the boys to be more like the Sons of the Pioneers, and less like sons of bitches.’

  ‘Then why didn’t –’

  ‘We need a photographer.’ The evasive note was back in Sam’s voice. ‘To be on duty for a couple of weeks. Snapping candids. For the fan magazines back home.’

  ‘That can be arranged.’ Gerry didn’t have all that much to do, and he was good with a camera. ‘I’ll bring one along to the opening.’

  ‘Fine.’ He didn’t sound happy; but, like me, he probably wouldn’t be until this assignment was over and Black Bart was just a memory to haunt our nightmares on dark and stormy nights.

  Meanwhile, we were blocking the way. Lou-Ann had to push past us to get on to the stage. Sam caught her arm as she passed and looked at her searchingly.

  ‘I can’t.’ She pulled herself free. ‘Bart wouldn’t like it. He wouldn’t like it at all. You heard him.’

  Sam lost the colour he had been regaining as we watched her stumble onstage. She took a pratfall and sat there, the broken daisies bobbing wildly on her hat. Cousin Homer came forward and, with exaggerated courtesy, pulled her to her feet. She overbalanced and flew past him, offstage into the wings on the other side.

  There was a flat pause, probably filled with a laugh during the actual performance. She gave it a count of five, then staggered back onstage, eyes popping, mouth open. It was overdone.

  Women shouldn’t be knockabout comics. I’ll grant them equality in everything else, but they sacrifice too much when they compete in that field. A few have managed it, but they’ve had enough finesse to work some pathos into their acts, and enough femininity to make sure of at least one scene where they appear in full glamour regalia. All the cards were stacked against Lou-Ann, and it wasn’t fair.

  ‘Come on,’ Sam said abruptly, ‘we don’t want to watch this.’

  I followed him backstage. Crystal and Uncle No’ccount were watching silently from the wings as we passed.

  ‘Wait in the dressing-room,’ Sam said. ‘I just want to have a word with the electrician.’

  He hadn’t said which dressing-room. I by-passed the first one, with a big gold star – the Client would have appropriated that. There were three closed doors beyond that, with no name plates, and I was playing ‘Eeny, meeny, miney, mo,’ when one of them opened.

  ‘Come in, young man,’ Maw Cooney said. She was brandishing a late edition, which boded no good. ‘I’ve been thinking you and I ought to have a little talk.’

  Short of straight-arming her and rushing through the Stage Door to daylight and freedom, there was no escape. I meekly went into the dressing-room, hoping Sam would find me – and find me quickly.

  She shut the door firmly behind me – if she’d shot the bolt, I would have gone straight through the window on the other side of the dressing-room. Fortunately, she didn’t.

  Locked or unlocked door, the lady made me nervous. Especially when she gave me that phoney smile. I recognized the newspaper as one which was carrying a column filler on Cousin Zeke.

  ‘Now, you know I ought to scold you,’ she said, still with that unnerving smile. ‘Here’s Lou-Ann, the comedy star of the Troupe, and you go getting publicity for one of the backing group. I ought to be good and mad and truly light into you for that!’

  ‘It was a nice little story,’ I said, keeping a wary eye on that rolled newspaper.

  ‘Well, I can give you some wonderful stories about Lou-Ann,’ she declared. ‘I mean, I’ve decided that’s where we’ve been going wrong – you and me – we haven’t had a real good heart-to-heart talk. Why, you don’t know what material you’ve got to work with. Sit down ! – and let me show you !’

  She had backed me up against a chair and I collapsed into it as she snapped the command at me. Where the hell was Sam?

  ‘That’s better.’ She discarded the newspaper and went to get something from the dressing-table. For a moment, I thought she was lugging a suitcase over to show me. Then I realized it was a pile of the damnedest scrapbooks I had ever seen. They were made of black and white cowhide, with rawhide thongs, and Maw Cooney was staggering slightly under the weight. If the whole troupe carried those sort of things around with them, no wonder they had come by ship. Just one would have taken up their entire baggage allowance by air.

  ‘You just look at these, now.’ She slammed them down on the table beside me. ‘Ain’t they grand? There’s a story right there in them alone. They was a gift to Lou-Ann from an admirer. Yessir, a lonely cowpoke made them himself for Lou-Ann after he heard her sweet voice on the radio. Wanted to marry her, too, he did – sight unseen. Of course, we had other plans, but he took it real well and sent her the scrapbooks, anyhow.’

&
nbsp; She pulled one forward and opened it. ‘You look at this now. That’s Lou-Ann in her first appearance. At the Palace in – well, you wouldn’t know the place. It’s not a big town, even for Tennessee. But Lou-Ann took first prize in the Amateur Night there. Twenty-five dollars she won, and she came in second in the Finals, too. She won a weekend for two in Atlanta, Georgia. My, those were exciting days. But we knew it was just the start of her career. And she’s worked. Lordy, how she’s worked!’ Incredible as it seemed, Lou-Ann had improved from her earliest days. Her teeth almost fitted her face now, and her eyes, although still enormous, looked more as though they belonged to her, too. Her taste in clothes hadn’t improved, though.

  ‘And this is Lou-Ann the time she was guest star on Grand Old Opry,’ Maw Cooney continued. ‘Do you know, she drew more fan mail than Minnie Pearl? Mind you, I’m not saying that was the reason she didn’t get asked back again –’ she pursed her mouth and nodded sagely at me – ‘but the public went wild over her. Of course, I know she was only contracted for one appearance, but wouldn’t you think they’d have signed her up after a response like that?’

  For a dresser, she was pushing pretty hard. I looked at her again, studying her thoughtfully – something I had never been able to bring myself to do before – and there began to be something terribly familiar about those slightly protuberant eyes and the set of the jaw. A slow penny began the long slide towards dropping.

  ‘Now, here,’ she turned another page, ‘is Lou-Ann on the day we went for her screen test in Tallahassee. My, she was wonderful in that. She was just as good as Sarah Bernhardt would have been. But, do you know, we never heard anything more from them. If you ask me, they didn’t even have any film in that camera. I don’t believe that was what they had in mind for Lou-Ann at all. But you should have seen their faces when I turned up along with her.’ She sniffed. ‘I sure enough put a spoke in their wheels.’

  I shot an arrow in the air. ‘Lou-Ann is certainly a lucky girl to have a mother like you to look after her interests.’

  ‘And she knows it!’ Right on target. ‘We’ve seen too many little second-raters drifting around, not knowing where they’re going. I made up my mind there’d be none of that for Lou-Ann – she’s going straight up to the top. She’ll be on television in New York next season, you know.’