Erlkonig snorted derisively. “Who, man? We’ve got entire city and state governments in the bag.”
“You can’t have bought out the Feds yet. I’ll go to them.”
Erlkonig appeared mildly concerned. “Well, I’ll admit you’re right. But we’re working on it! There’s so many palms to grease in Washington, though. A big, greedy place. I think were on an inside track now, though. We’re talking with certain people about paying down the federal deficit. The government could run a surplus every year, of course, but servicing the old debt would still be a drag on them.
“But why are we tossing around all this betrayal shit anyhow?” Erlkonig rose and clapped an arm around Rory’s shoulder. “I know you, shell, you wouldn’t turn in your buds. So let’s just forget all this nonsense. Listen, there’s a big party on tomorrow night. I want you and your girl to come.”
“An Outlaw Party?”
Erlkonig laughed. “Hardly. We’re not Outlaws anymore. No, I’m hosting an open house after working hours here at the Brewery, to celebrate the renovations. You gotta come.”
Guiding Rory to the door of Vat Number One, Erlkonig opened it and conducted him down the few steps. “Now don’t worry about nothing, man. We’ll get all your concerns straightened out soon. Catch you tomorrow.”
The door swished softly but decisively shut behind him. Still feeling intensely dissatisfied, Rory left the Brewery.
Outside, police had cordoned off traffic so that a large flatbed truck could unload. The cargo was a huge wooden spool of some kind of odd matte-black wire unlike any electrical cable Rory had ever seen. Supervising the offloading, Hy Rez and Special Effects directed their various assistants with elaborate flourishes and jargon-filled commands.
“Hi, guys,” said Rory. “What’s up?”
Hy Rez pressed a finger behind his ear. “Special and I have our own company now, Rory. Pantechnicon Productions. You know Lucas’s Industrial Lights and Magic? Sorta like them, only bigger. And we feature analog stunts, too. Earl subcontracted out tomorrow night’s entertainment to us.”
“How’s the wire figure?”
Hy Rez’s voice held immense pride. “You’re looking at a unique blend of polycarbon fibers twisted into the strongest and lightest cable known to man. One hundred spondulix per foot. For the Big Walk. You know.”
“Oh,” said Rory, nowise enlightened. Truth to tell, he couldn’t work up much interest in these ridiculous doings. By tomorrow night he and Addie would have boarded a plane to somewhere sane.
“Well, good luck, Hy. I’ll see you around.”
“Stay wired, man.”
Hy Rez returned to his task, he and Special moving in wordless synchronization, as if exchanging comments along a channel not open to anyone else.
Checking his watch, Rory saw he had no time to return home before meeting Addie. He would have to change up in her apartment. Many of his clothes, including some suitably formal ones, already shared closet space there with Addie’s. Just as about half of Addie’s wardrobe consorted with his garments at his apartment.
The clothes situation more than anything else had led Rory to consider marriage. How homey and comforting, to have a slip drying over the shower-curtain rod. Nylons tossed in a corner, still bearing the fragile shape of a phantom foot. Jeans so small they looked like a child’s pair next to his (36w, 32l). The scent of Addie’s hair on his pillows, her lipstick traces on a glass, a paperback she might be reading splayed face down with a creased spine. He wanted the feelings he got from these simple tokens of her shared existence with him to go on and on, from day to day forever. No longer did mere weekends and occasional nights suffice. He needed to know she would be by his side every possible minute, mated and bonded to him body and soul.
Marrying her and taking her away from this New Jersey Bedlam would surely accomplish his dream. Rory half-sensed that his fantasy of elopement contained powerful and primitive ancestral elements. He dimly knew himself to be replicating with variations the history of his progenitors. As Horst Honigmann had taken Freyda Storch away to their new Iowan home, as Rudy Honeyman had captured and partially domesticated the hellacious Roz Parker, so too would Rory act out both the role of abductor and abducted, paradoxically both the stern patriarch and willing victim of love.
Halfway to Addie’s Rory stopped at an ATM to withdraw some cash for the night ahead. The bank machine obediently disbursed a colorful sheaf of spondulix. The parting message on the screen read: thank you for helping to subvert the dominant paradigm. Rory tucked the bills guiltily into his wallet. Once he and Addie had established themselves in their new life, he would never pass another spondulix again. He swore the oath on the Baroness’s grave.
Rory knocked on Addie’s door, not wanting to let himself cavalierly in and scare her by his early arrival—should she be showering, say. This would surely be one of the last times he’d ever have to announce himself so. How pleasant to imagine the day when his house would be hers, his arrival no longer a surprise but rather an anticipated certainty. Where exactly would they live? A small town, a medium-sized city, one of the world’s capitals? The possibilities multiplied endlessly.
“Addie, it’s me.”
“Unlock the door yourself, I’m still getting dressed.”
This information conjured up many enticing images. “Here I come to help,” Rory announced as he put key to lock.
Addie stood in her newest undergarments by the living-room mirror, braiding her long lion-colored hair. She wore black heels, black hose upheld by a frilly narrow belt, a strapless bra and her eyeglasses. “You weren’t supposed to see all these bits until much later.”
“Don’t fret. I never lose interest no matter how many times I see them.”
“My, aren’t you sweet tonight. This date must be really special. You still won’t tell me what it’s all about?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Meanwhile, why don’t I adjust the tension in those garters.…”
“Hey, hands off. If I let you have your way, I’ll get all sweated up like a horse and then have to shower again. We’ll have plenty of time for your monkey business later. We’ve got actual reservations somewhere that we have to keep, don’t we? Unless we’re going back to your Clam Shack.”
“You’re absolutely right. Food first, monkey business second. And maybe more monkey business third.”
“Huh! Big talk. The last time we went out for dinner you got so drunk we never even got completely undressed before you started to snore.”
“If I recall correctly you were pretty potted, too.”
“Ladies don’t get potted, they get tipsy.”
“The net result seems about the same. Anyhow, the meal shouldn’t disappoint. If half the stories I’ve heard about this place are true, we should experience a regular feast. And the first bottle from the wine-list will probably bankrupt us, so we won’t be able to afford enough to get truly blotto.”
“Where’s this place and what’s its name?”
“Chez Neuf. A brand-new French restaurant right here in Hoboken. They have a floor show too. The Times reviewer called it ‘the most sensational and sensual dining experience Hoboken has ever offered.’”
“Goodness, I imagine they even use real glasses for the drinks, unlike certain other famous Hoboken establishments. But you’re not going to such a fancy place looking like that, I hope.”
“Oh, no, I’m wearing my suit. I left it here, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you entrusted me with your one non-denim item of clothing. And I even had it pressed for you.”
“Thanks.”
Addie finished her plait and gestured toward her dress, hung on a padded hanger hooked over the bedroom door. The short black spaghetti-strapped dress seemed to have strayed from the set of an HBO sex comedy. Rory thought it perfect.
“Hand me my dress, please?”
Rory took the filmy garment down and passed it to Addie, who squirmed enticingly into it. Rory came up close behind her.
&n
bsp; “Hey, do you know the meaning of the word frottage?”
“I ride the subways, don’t I? But enough groping. Into the shower with you, while I call us a cab.”
Rory sang heartily in the shower. “Baby likes me, but she loves spondulix.” He stopped when he realized which tune he had unconsciously chosen. He finished adjusting his tie (a gift from his parents, the hand-painted tie depicted samples of all the agricultural products of his home state) just as the cabbie blatted his horn outside. Addie and Rory dashed out the door and were soon barreling toward Chez Neuf.
Stopped at a red light, Rory absentmindedly studied a plywood wall around a construction site, pasted with posters. One colorful poster in particular caught his eye and jolted him alert.
M O M A
OCTOBER 1—DECEMBER 31
PORNIGAMI GOES POP!
LATEST WORKS BY SUKI NETSUKE
“Netsuke’s work blends Oriental fastidiousness with Western fetishes.”—Robert Hughes
“This chick can fold my notes anytime!”—Howard Stern
“Netsuke puts new wrinkles into both Sex and Art.”—Mary Boone
Rory gratefully watched the poster recede as the cab zoomed off. Another loyal Sponco worker rewarded. Somehow he couldn’t feel angry about all this raw patronage anymore. That any institution could be bought off, any exalted rank attained effortlessly, was hardly news in this day and age.
Turning to Addie, Rory filled her in on the disappearance of Hello Kitty. Addie comforted him with reassurances that his cat would be safe and soon return. Rory went on to recount his visit to the Brewery, and Addie seemed vitally interested, probing for extensive details.
“Would you really turn the Nuts in, Rory? Even if you had to testify against them in court?”
“Only if push came to shove. I don’t like lots of the things they’re doing. But I don’t relish playing the traitor either.”
Addie considered this reply during a long silence, broken only by the cabbie’s announcement of their fare upon arrival at their destination.
“That’ll be six-eighty, folks.”
Rory gave him a ten and forsook any change.
The facade of Chez Neuf featured a long blue canopy supported by brass poles, extending streetward from the building. Gold script traced the letters of the restaurant’s name across the fabric. A red carpet ran beneath the canopy and led to a leather-padded door. A uniformed doorman helped Addie out of the cab. Rory joined her, took her arm, and escorted her into the restaurant.
The small tasteful anteroom and coat check area was illuminated by Lux wall sconces. At a podium bearing a reservations book, a hooded lamp cast another discrete pool of light. Bending over the book, his face hidden at first, was a tuxedo-clad figure. Bulky and round, the man had his long clean hair secured in a ponytail. Hearing the entrance of the eager diners, he looked up.
“Nerfball!”
“Mister Honeyman, Miss Swinburne, welcome to Chez Neuf. I expressly instructed our regular maitre d’ to stand aside, allowing me personally to seat you.”
“Nerf, cut the obsequious crap. It’s me, your old boss, remember? What’s the joke? Did Earl put you up to this?”
Nerfball raised one eyebrow as a gesture of mild reproof. Rory noticed that Nerfball’s complexion had cleared up considerably, no doubt due to a series of expensive facials at prestigious spas.
“I assure you, Mister Honeyman, that no facetious motives underlie this gesture. This is my establishment. You will perhaps recall hearing me speculate about running such a business, back in my more impecunious days. Well, as matters eventuated, my dreams became reality. I hope you will experience similar validation some day.”
Rory sighed. “God knows what the future will bring me, Nerf.”
“Mister Hudnut, if you don’t mind.”
“All right, all right, ‘Mister Hudnut’ it is. Right now, my dreams extend no further than having my dinner. Can you accommodate that?”
“But of course. Step this way, please.”
Nerfball conducted Rory and Addie into the dining room, a murmur-resonant, softly lighted chamber distinguished by silk-covered walls and elaborate chandeliers. A small low stage occupied one end of the room. Candle flames sparkled off crystal and silver, gold and diamonds.
“Well, Nerf, you’ve laid out more linen than a cemetery full of mummies,” said Rory
Their host ignored the comment, and Addie hushed Rory.
Delicately sliding back a chair, Nerfball seated Addie graciously. “This table has the best view of the stage. I had to refuse the mayor this seat tonight. You’ll spot him over in the corner there. Your waitperson will be with you momentarily. I’ve taken the liberty of instructing our chefs to whip up a few special dishes for your enjoyment tonight. I hope you’ll honor me by endorsing my modest choices.”
“Well, now, hold on just a minute. I don’t see—”
“Oh, Rory, please go along. I think it’s awfully nice that Mister Hudnut went to all this trouble for us. Don’t spoil it.”
“Okay, okay, I’m game for anything from frog legs to cow’s tongue.”
“You will not regret your compliance with my selections, I assure you, Mister Honeyman.”
Nerfball disappeared. Rory fiddled with one of his several forks. “This date is shaping up into another fine mess.”
“Not necessarily. Just relax, and try to enjoy yourself.”
A young woman in white shirt, bow tie, and black trousers with cummerbund appeared by their side. “Good evening. I’m Marie, your server for the evening. Mister Hudnut has put together a small collation for your dining pleasure. Perhaps you’d care to hear what he’s selected.”
“Shoot.”
“While dinner is being prepared, we hope you’ll enjoy a Boal Madeira, vintage 1941.This will be followed by Salmon and Scallop Carpaccio accompanied by a Dom Perignon Rose, 1971. A Comte Cheese Soufflé will be served with a Puligny Montrachet, 1981. A Pear Rosemary Sherbet will intervene between courses to cleanse your palates. The Gratin of Veal Tripe, Penne and Cabbage will be accompanied by a Pichon Lalande, 1953, and a Langoa Barton, 1952. This brings us to the main course.”
“Main course?”
“Yes. Spit-roasted Shoulder of Cured Pork, Broccoli Roman-Style, Puree of Spring Favas and an assortment of Chino Ranch Vegetables. The main wines will be a Clos des Lambrays, 1949, and a Musigny, 1947. Dessert will be Almond Charlotte Bavarian and Strawberry Napoleons, with a 1975 Yquem. Civet-bean Coffee will be followed by Chartreuse Verte and Benedictine, both pre-1935 vintages. Do you wish to suggest any alterations to this menu?”
“Alterations? I’d rather try to take apart a Swiss watch! What the hell is this little spread going to cost us?”
“Rory!”
“Tonight’s fare is compliments of the house, sir.”
“Adding to my humiliation, naturally. Well, just let me tuck my chin-rag into my collar and you can start carting the grub out.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Marie the Server left. Rory slumped in his seat, all his bravado leaking out of him. To be brought face to face with the continued insolence of the Beer Nuts on this night of all nights, with such an important question to be posed— Too much, especially after all his other hassles. His life was accelerating out of control, his destination some whirlpool of helpless frustration.
Addie reached across the table and took Rory’s hand. “I know you had something different in mind for tonight, dear. But don’t worry. As long as we’re together, we can enjoy anything.”
This sentiment made Rory feel a little better. “You’re absolutely right. Thanks.”
The wine steward arrived with the first bottle. Rory went through the elaborate decanting and tasting ritual and granted his approval automatically. As he and Addie sipped the Madeira, Rory felt himself relaxing a bit. They chatted about the day Rory asked how Addie’s work was going; Addie deftly changed the topic without really replying. Now on his second glass of wine, Rory mellowly let
the customary diversion pass.
The salmon arrived with the Dom Perignon. Rory was glad to get some food in his stomach, what with all this wine. Portions were pretty small, weren’t they? Guess that’s how you could always tell a high-class joint. Not like the sandwich shop. Half a pound of cold cuts in certain sandwiches. But the shop was dead now, and had never been high-class. This fish stuff tasted pretty good though.
“Kitty loves salmon,” said Rory, rather too loudly and maudlinly. The Mayor was staring at them, menacing with his shaved head. “If only she were here.”
“She’ll turn up,” said Addie. “Personally, I think she’s shacking up with Cardinal Ratzinger.”
Five tables over a New Jersey Bishop dropped his wine glass into his soup.
Buspeople cleared dishes, and the soufflé was carried in, high and puffy as a summer cloud. The steward offered a sample of the Montrachet. Rory knocked it back. “’Sfine. Fill ’er up, general,” he commanded with an imperious wave of his empty glass. Addie giggled.
They polished off the soufflé and three-quarters of the Montrachet. Dishes were whisked away while Marie served the sherbet. A busperson laid his hand on the near-empty wine bottle. Rory slapped his own palm over the offending paw, arresting the removal.
“Hey, Marie, we got more vino with the sherbet?”
“No, sir.”
“Then tell your buddy to leave this stuff. It’s not butterscotch, but it should go good with the ice cream.”
“Very well, sir. By the way, Mister Hudnut has asked me to mention that he has timed the start of the entertainment to coincide with your entrée.”
“Great. Who’s on tonight? Neighborhood amateurs?”
“The opening set will be performed by Diana Krall and Audra Macdonald. They will be followed by the main act, Rosemary Clooney. A full orchestra under the direction of the Marsalis brothers will provide the music.”
“We’re talking impersonators now, right?”
“By no means, Mister Honeyman.”
Spondulix: A Romance of Hoboken Page 32
