Cover-Up Story

by Marian Babson

  ‘Ridin’ alone ...’

  His face was black and thunderous as he strode on. She had killed his entrance, and he knew it. There could be only one sad and lonely principal in the act. She had stolen the mood and part of it had exited with her.

  Once again, there’d be hell to pay when the public performance was over. No wonder she had wanted to stick to comedy.

  CHAPTER V

  BACKSTAGE, after the house had emptied, the atmosphere was about as I had expected. I pasted a bright smile on my lips, prepared to congratulate and then sidestep any members of the Troupe I was unfortunate enough to trip over. I simply wanted to collect Penny and Gerry before they got caught in the crossfire and, incidentally, exchange a few words with Sam, if possible. By this time, I wasn’t sure whether I really had anything to say to Sam or not. It was the challenge of the whole thing which had roused my sporting blood.

  I might have known Penny and Gerry wouldn’t have been where I left them. Gerry had a fine nose for trouble. Where else would he be, then, but in the star dressing-room, watching the fray with interest – and with Penny? I was surprised, however, to find Sam there, too. I had thought he possessed a finer sense of self-preservation.

  Lou-Ann was on the carpet – almost literally. She was crouched beside Black Bart’s chair. Another couple of inches and she would have been kneeling.

  ‘Bart,’ she pleaded, ‘honest, Bart. I didn’t tell them to. I didn’t know what was going to happen until they did it. Bart – you ain’t mad at me?’

  Why should she be any different? It was easy to see that Black Bart was mad at everybody. He had a fine line in sulks, and this was the most impressive I had yet seen. The black scowl on his face, the rigid line of his lips, the way his arms were tightly folded across his chest – they were all effective, if reminiscent. He was every outlaw in every bad Western you had ever seen, brooding until sundown, when he was going to stalk down that empty dirt road and kill himself a lawman. It was just as well that Black Bart had no gun, and that the nearest Sheriff was 3,000 miles away.

  ‘Please, Bart,’ Lou-Ann said. ‘Tell me you ain’t mad at me.’

  Black Bart looked over her head impassively. I had a momentary hope that he was never going to speak again.

  ‘If you want to take it out on anybody, Bart –’ Sam, too, was tight-lipped and white-faced – ‘take it out on me. I gave the order for the big spot to be killed and the baby blue to be used.’ I’d never realized Sam had this insane death-wish. He’d never shown any signs of suicidal tendencies when I’d known him in the States. ‘Furthermore, it’s going to stay that way from now on. It’s right for the act.’

  That brought Black Bart to his feet, quivering with fury. Sam went whiter than white, but stood his ground.

  ‘What did you say?’ Bart demanded dangerously.

  ‘You heard me.’ Sam’s voice was almost steady. ‘I told you before that that number shouldn’t be played for laughs. Now I’ve proved it. From here on in, she warbles it straight. And the devil with the laughs.’

  ‘Maybe you still ain’t got the picture,’ Black Bart said softly, still dangerously. ‘She’s here for laughs. Look at her – you think any man’s gonna look at her and not laugh?’

  Lou-Ann rose, with terrible eagerness. ‘I told him, Bart. I said I didn’t want to do anything that wasn’t funny.’

  ‘You want the song to stay in –’ Bart ignored her, still glaring at Sam – ‘then I’ll sing it. It goes better with my image, anyhow.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Maw Cooney seemed to be tired of living, too. She came forward slowly to face Bart. ‘The audience liked it. ’Course, they always go crazy for Lou-Ann, but this was something special. They –’ she lowered her voice into an awed, hushed tone – ‘they really loved her. Maybe we ought to keep it in like that.’

  There was a slight scrabbling noise, like rats abandoning ship, as the Cousins edged back against the wall. Bart took it quite mildly, for him. ‘You think so, huh? Who told you you could think? I built this act, what I say goes. Just remember – none of you would be nothing, if it wasn’t for me.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ Maw Cooney’s jaw set in a stubborn line. ‘You just remember a few things, yourself. Lou-Ann was pretty famous before you ever came on the scene. So you needn’t think you’re the big shot who’s done it all. I tell you, you wouldn’t be where you are today if you’d had to play the Nashville Circuit all by your lonesome. An’ that ain’t all –’

  ‘Maw, Maw.’ Lou-Ann was tugging at her sleeve anxiously. Perhaps she really loved the old bat – the silver cord was a wonderful thing. At any rate, she seemed concerned to stop Maw Cooney’s tirade before Black Bart reached out those big hands that were twitching at his side and knotted them around Maw Cooney’s neck. ‘Let it go, Maw. Just forget it.’

  ‘I ain’t gonna forget it.’ But Maw Cooney let herself be pulled back a couple of steps. ‘You’re too easy-going, my girl, that’s your trouble. I don’t know where you’d be, if you didn’t have me to look out for your interests.’

  ‘Better off.’ But I was the only one to hear Sam’s low murmur. Black Bart, head turning restlessly from side to side, had spotted a new vent for his anger. Uncle No’ccount and Crystal were trying to slip out of the door before he got around to raging at the rest of them. They didn’t quite make it.

  ‘You come back here,’ he yelled. ‘Where in hell do you think you’re sneaking off to?’

  ‘Nowhere, Bart.’ Crystal halted in the doorway, hovering there. ‘Just thought we’d like a little breath of fresh air, that’s all.’

  ‘There’s plenty of air right here. Get back and sit down.’ He glared at her while she came back into the room. Nasty grins broke out like a rash across the faces of the Cousins.

  Uncle No’ccount still hovered in the doorway. ‘I oughta go get some work done,’ he said. ‘You don’t want me, do you, Bart?’

  ‘Hell, I don’t want none of you,’ Bart snarled. ‘But I’m stuck with you.’ He swung back suddenly and caught up his big sombrero from the back of the chair, then grabbed Crystal by the wrist and thrust her towards the door.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you some fresh air. Come on, we’ll walk back to the hotel.’

  There seemed to be a lot more air for the rest of us, and a lot fresher, too, once Bart had left the room. The Cousins gave it a count of ten, then slithered out of the door themselves. That improved the atmosphere, too.

  Sam crossed over to Lou-Ann and Maw Cooney, speaking to them in a rapid undertone I could not hear. Not that I was interested.

  By that time, I had met Gerry’s accusing eye. ‘You should have told me,’ he said reproachfully. ‘You’ve let me go on living in a fool’s paradise, when I should have been crawling on my hands and knees to the hyphenated-hag and trying to get back into her good graces – at least long enough to get us paid.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Penny said thoughtfully. ‘He was super out on the stage, wasn’t he? Maybe he’s just tired after the performance. I’ll bet he’s awfully high-strung.’

  ‘Child, child.’ Gerry patted her head gently. ‘Keep your youthful illusions, but don’t let them run away with you. If ever I saw a prize candidate to join the Great Unmentionables at an early date –’

  ‘Did you get some good shots?’ It was an unnecessary question, I just threw it in to cheer him up.

  ‘I got some magnificent shots. Far better than any of them deserve.’ He glanced across the room thoughtfully. ‘You know, that girl has a wonderful bone structure. Why doesn’t she try to look like a member of the human race?’

  I knew what he meant. None of Gerry’s birds would have been caught dead in last year’s Quant, last season’s restaurant, or last month’s hairstyle. Lou-Ann, on the other hand, would have died before abandoning her ‘comedy costume’. Somewhere, there must be a happy medium.

  ‘...I don’t care.’ Maw Cooney’s voice rose abruptly. ‘He ain’t been treating my Lou-Ann right for a long
time now. I’m gonna go after him and give him a real good piece of my mind! ’

  ‘Maw! –’ Lou-Ann caught at her elbow as she tried to leave. ‘Just cool off, Maw. It’s all right, honest –’

  ‘There ain’t nothing right about it! He should remember your position. He thinks he’s the Great I-Am, and nobody else counts for nothing. Well, it’s high time he learned different, and I’m gonna –’

  ‘Okay, okay, but not just now, huh? We need you here.’ Sam glanced over at me, signalling desperately. I was interested to find that he could remember I existed – when he needed me. ‘Doug, bring the photographer over here, will you, please? We want to get some good shots of Lou-Ann, while we’ve got a clear field.’

  Nothing else could have brought Maw Cooney to heel so quickly. ‘Oh, well now, that’s a real good idea,’ she said, all the fire dying away. ‘It sure is nice to know we’ve got a Road Manager who knows his onions.’

  Sam winced. ‘Thanks.’ He turned to Lou-Ann briskly. ‘Now, we’ll just get rid of that –’ He yanked off the appalling hat.

  ‘No, give that back!’ Lou-Ann clutched for it.

  ‘Take it easy. We just want a couple of straight shots,’ Sam held the hat out of reach. ‘Be a good girl and get into your street clothes, will you?’

  He should have known better. In the short time I had had to observe her, even I had realized that the one thing calculated to throw her into a blind panic was any suggestion that she come out from behind the mask of comedy and look or act like a normal human being.

  She fought like a wildcat, or whatever the local fauna was in the territory she came from. Sam tossed the hat away and used both hands to defend himself. He wasn’t doing too well. Maw Cooney circled them like a stray bitch, watching her chance to get in there and sink her teeth where they’d do the most damage.

  The best idea I could come up with was to throw a bucket of cold water over them, but there was no water in the room. Only a half-empty bottle of bourbon, and I couldn’t bring myself to waste it.

  Gerry stopped them. The flash of light from the camera halted them all. They blinked, and separated, dazed. Then Gerry stepped into the breach. He gave Lou-Ann his warmest smile. I had seen Gerry in action before. I could never copy his technique – I still didn’t believe it. But it worked every time.

  They have laws to protect poor fish. Dynamiting trout is illegal in all civilized countries. When civilization reaches a more advanced stage, they may get around to protecting people from onslaughts of sheer concentrated charm. (Or perhaps television will eventually prove an immunizing agent.)

  Meanwhile, there is no defence. I watched Lou-Ann smooth her hair, pull down her jacket, and generally prove that a rag, a bone, and a hank of hair has the same reactions, no matter where in the world it originated. She gave Gerry a shy, hesitant smile.

  ‘I got some splendid shots during the performance,’ he told her. ‘But now I’d like a few relaxed, natural pictures, for my own scrapbook – if nothing else.’

  Lou-Ann still looked doubtful, but Maw Cooney dealt herself into the action at this stage.

  ‘It can’t do any harm,’ she advised Lou-Ann. ‘You jes’ let the nice gentleman take any pictures he wants. After all –’ she simpered at Gerry, who didn’t turn a hair – ‘even if he takes them, that ain’t to say he’s going to pass them around, is it?’

  ‘Assuredly not.’ Gerry nearly bowed. ‘I shouldn’t dream of doing anything that didn’t have your full approval.’

  He had Lou-Ann’s plaits piled coronet-style on top of her head by that time, and her jacket off. ‘Suppose we just try this,’ he murmured. He turned the jacket back to front and swathed her in it, hiding the awful blouse.

  Sam watched him with narrowed eyes. Maw Cooney’s eyes were narrow, too, but I thought I recognized the look in them. I had seen it before, in other hopeful mothers mentally measuring Gerry for a wedding-ring. That was always before they knew him very well.

  CHAPTER VI

  IF YOUR LUCK is in, you stand a good chance with an Award Presentation. Provided that no one declares war, assaults a photogenic female, or ingeniously murders a spouse, there’s a sporting chance that some desperate editor will throw you into an empty space.

  It took no effort at all, next day, to persuade Penny to gather a few friends into a Black Bart Fan Club and elect her President. Since Sam was ultimately footing the bill, we decided on a silver-plated miniature guitar – but big enough to photograph well – and I sent Penny off to find one and get it engraved.

  I was on the phone, putting out the photo call, when Sam walked into the office. He sat down and breathed heavily for a few minutes.

  ‘Can’t you afford a building with an elevator?’ he finally wheezed.

  ‘You mean a lift,’ I told him. ‘Since you ask, we can’t. Apart from which, it’s considered healthier for people to take gentle exercise – like climbing a few stairs or going for long walks every day. I thought your doctors over there were dead keen on the idea.’

  ‘Then let them climb the stairs!’ Sam was recovering enough to sit up and take notice. He looked round the room carefully, obviously deciding that Nathan’s investment hadn’t been frittered away in pursuit of sybaritic luxury. The furniture was second-hand Utility, and even at the rate bygones were coming back into style these days, we weren’t going to live long enough to see any of it make us a profit on the antique market.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea? Or a cigar?’ It wasn’t much, but it was the best I could offer. He shot me an odd glance and shook his head.

  Well, I’d done my best to be hospitable. I settled back and waited for him to make the next move. After all this time, I could hardly believe he had come here of his own free will. I still half expected him to vanish in a puff of smoke.

  ‘Nice little place you’ve got here,’ he lied half-heartedly.

  ‘It isn’t much, but it’s home.’

  He nodded glumly, still glancing around the room. Perhaps he’d had orders from Nate to come and inspect the place, but he looked more like a nervous man trying to spot the Fire Exit in case of an emergency. If there was a point to his visit, it didn’t seem that he was going to let me in on it.

  ‘Sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea?’ I pressed.

  He shook his head again, and that was the last indication I had from him that he was aware of my presence in the room. After that, he just slumped in the chair, staring into space.

  ‘Try a cigar – they’re improving with age.’ I used it as an excuse to lean across the desk, holding the box out to him, so that I could look at his eyes. The pupils appeared to be normal. I hadn’t really thought he was on drugs, but you never can be too sure these days.

  But no, the trouble wasn’t drugs. The trouble might just possibly be Trouble. Sam, the more I studied him, looked like a man with the Giant Economy-Size package of Trouble on his shelf.

  He was still ignoring me, so I gave it up for a bad job and went back to telephoning. I sent out half a dozen more photo calls to newspapers and agencies before I looked up again to find him staring at me.

  This time he knew I was there. And he seemed to wish I wasn’t. Well, that was easy enough to remedy – all he had to do was get up and go away. It was my office, after all.

  ‘What’s this about Fan Club kids?’ he demanded.

  ‘You heard the call I was putting out. The Black Bart Fan Club of London will present Bart with a silver guitar tomorrow at 2.00 p.m., in honour of his first English tour.’

  ‘These kids –’ there was a peculiar urgency in his manner – ‘how kiddish are they?’

  I saw his point. I wouldn’t like a bunch of impressionable kids to trip over Black Bart in one of his black moods. ‘Relax,’ I said, ‘they’re all in on it. My secretary is the President – she’ll be presenting the Award. It would be nice, though, if you could keep the Great Man civil for the occasion. For the sake of the Press, of course.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be okay.’ Sam did relax. H
e slumped again, but managed not to go back into his former trance. I felt we were making progress. It emboldened me to ask a direct question.

  ‘What the hell is going on, Sam? What the bloody hell is really going on with your bunch?’

  He leaped a mile, then pulled himself together. He even managed a smile, but his eyes had resumed their restless inventory of the room. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said doggedly.

  ‘Cut it out, Sam. You’re not that dumb – and neither am I.’

  ‘Okay, Doug.’ He faced me squarely. ‘I’ll be honest with you.’

  Automatically, I braced myself for a lie.

  ‘We’ve had our little problems. I mean, it’s not just one big happy family – the way the act plays. Most of them aren’t even related – you can’t expect it. But they’re good boys and girls, they’ll settle down. They’re a little out of their depth, being in a foreign country, too.’ He laughed falsely. ‘To tell you the truth, so am I. That’s why I’m so glad we’ve got you, Douggie boy, we’re depending on you to see us through.’

  Well, I could see through him. Perhaps that was a start. ‘Try it again,’ I said. ‘I’m not buying that one. It’s hollow when you thump it.’

  That laugh of his was beginning to grate on my nerves. ‘Ah, you’re too clever for us, Douggie boy. I’ll admit there are wheels within wheels. It’s an awkward situation.’

  ‘Then you’d better fill me in on it. You know it’s as important for a public relations man to know what to avoid as it is to know what to publicize.’

  ‘Well.’ He clawed blindly for a cigarette, avoiding my eyes. ‘It’s like this.’ He paused to light the cigarette, and I lost him again. He stared abstractedly at the match until it burned down almost to his fingers, then he shook it out and took to staring at the lighted tip of the cigarette instead.

  ‘Come along,’ I prodded him, ‘you can tell me. I’m on your side, you know. I don’t care if Uncle No’ccount runs an illegal still in his backyard down yonder – I’m not going to shop him to the Revenue men.’