“How the fuck did this happen?” FX Flaherty screamed. “My son’s dick is orange! Jesus fucking Day-Glo orange Christ playing hopscotch with his fucking orange dick!”
“Tammy wanted money,” King Dave said.
“So pay it!” FX was going hoarse with screaming.
“I did. Did she send the camera disk too?”
Hysterical panting came from the phone. “Yeah. Turns my fucking stomach to look at ’em. You look like a moron in these pictures. You moron! Do you know this could fucking ruin you?”
“That’s why I paid,” King Dave said, feeling that sluggish horror that Wile E. Coyote must feel when the anvil is falling on him from way, way up the cliff. All he can do is watch.
“I was gonna put you to woik today. Now I don’t know.”
Oh well. The world was coming to an end one way or another this week. May as well push the big red button and watch it go foom.
“Dad, I’m kind of busy,” he said, and braced himself.
“Busy?! Busy?!” Dad’s voice rose from hoarse to a cracked, whistling wheeze. “You punk. I made you. You’re a stupid punk. You can’t stay sober on the job. I made you and I can ruin you!”
That pissed him off, considering how much whiskey Dad put away with his cronies, and how seldom King Dave got loaded. He said, “What are you gonna do, show those pictures around town? Make up your mind, Dad. Either I’m your son and my shit don’t stink, or I’m a punk. So ruin me. We’ll see if that makes a difference to the production manager at the Galaxy Complex.”
Instantly he sucked air past his teeth, wishing he could suck those words back in.
“The Galaxy?” The old man laughed meanly. “You dumb fuck, you know I can’t get you into the Galaxy! Think I ain’t tried to get good guys, qualified guys in there? The city owns that thee-yayter. Nobody can’t get nobody into that thee-yayter.” Dad seemed to simmer down. “Kid, you want a house job, I’ll try to get you a house job. Something you can handle. Not right away. You gotta live down this fuckup about falling into a cake.” A choking sound came. “A cake. Christ Jesus. Forget the Galaxy.”
King Dave set his teeth. In a minute the old man would bring up his shitty grades in high school.
But the old man was feeling generous. “Look, Lion King’s coming back to the Cadillac. It’s a three-week put-in, eighteen hours a day, seven-day weeks, that’s two meal penalties and ten hours of double-time for three solid weeks. I was gonna put you on it when this—this orange shit came in the mail.” He paused, and King Dave pictured him counting to ten. “Starts today, soon as the trucks show up. Be there sober at two with your tools,” he said, as if King Dave were an apprentice.
King Dave did the bravest thing he’d ever done in his life.
“I’m busy, Dad. I gotta get me some references for this job.” Damn, his tongue got away from him again.
“No. Din’t I tell you, I can’t get you that job?”
“I’ll get it myself.” Or not. Scary thought. He didn’t like to think how his rep would suffer if he applied and failed. Day-Glo Dick would be nothing compared to that.
“No, you won’t,” the old man said sharply. “I’m losin’ patience with you. You’re a fuckup. You flunked out of high school. They don’t want some know-nothing dope. They’ll reject you. And,” Dad said, clinching the argument, “my son does not get rejected! So fuck the Galaxy. Be at the Cadillac at two.”
King Dave swallowed. “Call somebody else, Dad.”
“You stupid punk!” His father exploded into screaming again. “You’ll fail! You’re suspended again! You’ll never woik in this town until I say so! God dammit—”
King Dave thumbed the phone off. He pulled over to the curb and sat, noticing how quiet his insides felt.
Why hadn’t he stood up for himself better? One thing he’d learned these past few weeks, he had a lot more self-respect than he’d ever believed. The old man might think his son was just another beer-swilling box-pusher, but King Dave knew he was more than that and, what was more, he’d always known it.
Even while flunking out of high school, he’d known it.
That was the problem. If Nadine hadn’t told him about running away from her Daddy and her ex-boyfriend and her too-tight home town, he wouldn’t have given his own ambitions a thought. Might have spent the next ten years skimming the cream of the box-pushing jobs thanks to the old man, screwing waitresses, cutting up. Acting like a teenager. The old man didn’t see anything wrong with that.
The old man didn’t see any dishonor in box-pushing. Why should he? In his day, he’d risen through the ranks from box-pusher to watching while others pushed. Dad’s ambitions were political, not skill-related, that was the difference between them. King Dave couldn’t say these things to the old man.
He realized Dad had a different work ethic. It was still the same work...and not. It was still the same ethic...and not. He knew the old man had earned every inch of his position.
It was just that the world had changed. Or King Dave had.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“You just missed him, Nadine,” Anvilhead Arnie Baxter said. “I think he said he’s headed over to the Shubert.”
She squinted at him. “Don’t mess with me, Anvilhead.”
Arnie raised three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“Hey, Queen Nadine,” Weasel said, breezing past her in the back hallway of the Auditorium with a roll of cable on his shoulder. “King Dave was just here.”
Arnie raised his shoulders and his palms. “Told ya.”
She snorted and went out the stage door to the alley, where the beat cop was walking around Bobbyjay’s Jeep with a ticket-writing gleam in his eye.
“Oh, hi, Nadine. You moving this?”
“Sorry, Officer Joey,” she said. “Right away.”
“You look mad,” Officer Joey said
“I’m off to find King Dave Flaherty,” she said.
“Ooo. Consider it fixed,” Officer Joey said.
She smiled a tight smile. “Thanks. I owe you coffee.”
“If you’re gonna kick King Dave’s butt, you don’t owe me a thing,” Officer Joey said, and Nadine didn’t stop to ask him why.
It was like tracking down a Sunday school truant in Goreville. She gunned Bobbyjay’s engine and roared onto Michigan Avenue, appalled at the violence of her emotions.
Eight years as preacher’s daughter had brought her self-control, perspective, an understanding of human nature. Suddenly these were all worthless. She felt like throwing herself down on the street in a screaming tantrum.
How dare he propose to her when he wasn’t ready to settle down? He knew she hated the way he lived. Her breath came in bursts. She roared off Dearborn onto Monroe, parked in front of the Shubert, and leaped out, leaving Bobbyjay’s flashers on.
“You can’t leave that there, Miss—oh, hi, Nadine.”
“I won’t be a minute, Iceberg,” she said to the doorman, yet another mountainous Nelson, and marched through the front doors.
As mad as she was, when she entered the cool darkness of the Shubert’s lobby, pricking her ears for the sound of tools or voices, she felt her anger waning. Just because he was a stagehand who would miss his own funeral for work didn’t mean he shouldn’t be told about the Galaxy flyman opening.
Besides, if he got the job, he’d be fit to marry after all.
She slammed open the double doors into the house and stomped down the center aisle. A man in jeans came out onstage.
“Dammit!” she yelled, and the man stopped. He peered out at the sea of darkened seats. Dammit’s face changed when she came into the light near the stage.
“Where is he?” she snapped.
“King Dave went to Corbett’s,” Dammit said simultaneously. “He wanted to talk to Ned Saakvitne. Big dumb blond. Uh, Ned is a big dumb blond,” he said quickly. “That’s how you’ll recognize him.” His hand strayed to the cell phone on his hip.
Her eyes narrowed. “If you call him, you
can tell him I’m looking for him.”
Dammit’s hand fell from the phone. “Uh, that’s okay. I’ll stay out of it, if it’s okay with you.”
She turned on her heel and left.
Corbett’s was across Wacker Drive from the Opera House. Nadine fought tears as she drove through the Loop. Of course he’d made her fall in love with him. It was what he did best. Every waitress in Corbett’s had been through this. Though she doubted he’d given them all diamonds and pearls.
She pulled up in front of Corbett’s with a screech. “I’m looking for King Dave,” she told the hostess.
“He just left. He was sitting with Dydee and Mikey Ray.”
He must know she was on his track. Why was he scurrying around town like this? Bobbyjay had said, maybe looking for references for the Galaxy job.
Or not.
Only one way to find out. She scanned the booths. “Ah.” Stalking to the far corner, she confronted the stagehands hiding there. “Howdy, Mikey Ray. Hey, Dydee. Where’s King Dave?”
They looked at her tear-stained face and then at each other. “Uh,” said Dydee.
“You okay, Nadine?” said Mikey Ray.
“He make you cry?” Dydee said. “I’ll kick his ass for you.”
She tossed her head to cover a sniffle. “Where is he?”
“Skyline Theatre,” Mikey Ray said.
She was out the door in seconds.
On top of breaking her heart, he’d had the crust to criticize her about her mother. The woman abandoned her family! Why should Nadine bother talking to her? Start the healing, indeed! This from a guy who’d had to be dunked in Buckingham Fountain before he would visit his own son.
Her bottom hit the hot black leather of Bobbyjay’s Jeep seat, sending a bolt of unladylike yearning through her unmentionables, and she choked back an angry sob.
He wouldn’t get away from the Skyline. Parking at Navy Pier was terrible. Ten minutes later she pulled in behind his Camaro, jammed Bobbyjay’s bumper against it good and hard, set the brake, and locked the doors. Now let him try and get away.
The Skyline Theatre looked like a great white humpback whale. She stiffened her spine and ducked under the canvas wall.
There was King Dave, down on the stage with an obvious stagehand she didn’t recognize. King Dave looked like a god. Her knees weakened. She wanted him worse, now that she could see him. How on earth was she to deliver her message without, well, giving the wrong impression?
He looked out from the stage and saw her. A big smile transformed his serious face. His companion shook hands with him and walked away. King Dave beckoned to her.
She climbed the stairs onto the stage, her heart thumping, and he walked smash up to her and folded her in a huge hug.
I don’t have to put up with this. I can stop any time I want to.
The hug became a kiss, and the kiss got heavy.
Didn’t matter. Nobody was looking. She could walk away.
A piercing whistle sounded from the fly loft. “Woo hoo! King Dave, rip it!”
A voice off stage left hollered, “Yowza!”
“Marry me, Nadine!” howled somebody from the orchestra pit.
She and King Dave sprang apart. “Stop that!” she hissed.
“I’m just happy to see you,” he said, sounding injured, though he grinned like a maniac.
“Well I’m not,” she said, though she couldn’t keep a straight face. “I came over—”
“How did you find me? I’ve been—” he began.
“I’ve been following you all over town,” she snapped, straightening her white waitress cap, feeling foolish because she’d only now realized she still had it on. She took it off and stuffed it in her apron. “I heard—”
“—Looking up my old buddies who might be—”
“From Bobbyjay about this—”
“Yo, King Dave, ten minute warning,” called the voice off stage left.
“What!?” King Dave snapped over his shoulder.
“We’re testing the rain curtain in ten minutes. Get your ass offstage,” the voice yelled.
He waved irritably toward stage left. “Nadine,” he began again, and she got her word in edgewise at last.
“The Galaxy is taking applications for house flyman,” she blurted. “This is your chance, King Dave.” His face twisted and he looked over his shoulder nervously. She grabbed his shoulders, trying to hold his attention. “You know you want a house job, and you know you love being a rigger—”
“Keep your voice down,” he said, sounding annoyed.
“Why?” She backed up. “I thought you’d want to know. It opened up today. If you jump quick, you might get it.”
He scowled again and shushed her with his hands.
“Tsk! Maybe you could, like, bestir yourself?” she hissed. “Take time out of your busy cake-smashing schedule?”
“Nadine, please! I don’t want—”
“You don’t want the work? Don’t lie to yourself.”
“Keep it down!”
She poked him in the chest. “You know what your problem is? You’re afraid to hope. You’re afraid to admit to yourself that you believe you can do better. If you admitted that to yourself, you’d have to try, wouldn’t you? And what if you tried and failed? What if you fell short of your ambition on the first try? You’re afraid your Daddy might punish you for life, or the Local would pity you for trying and failing. Do you really think it’s better to be envied by the—by the box-pushers than to try? Even if maybe you fall short a couple times before you get it?”
She stopped at the look on his face. Now she’d done it. She stammered, “I’m—I’m not being preacher’s daughter at you, King Dave. I—I care. I want the b-best for you.” Feeling she’d done enough damage for the moment, she shut up.
But King Dave looked at her seriously. No kidding, no charm, no silliness. “You’re right. I’ve been thinking about all those things.” Was he really going to concede her point? Her heart leaped. He looked flushed but he wasn’t losing his temper. “It’s time we both grew up.”
Too late she remembered their argument over breakfast. Her eyes rolled with panic. “Oh, no. I know what you’re going to say and you can forget it. I’m not calling my mother.”
“It’s time. Do you hate her?”
“N-no.”
“Can she hurt you? Worse than she did when she ran away?”
“Not really,” she lied. Every nerve in her body was scared to death of being hurt again. She could feel him herding her toward her mother and it made her panic. “What if I don’t want to go back and relive all that awful stuff?” she said, hating the whine in her voice. “It was horrible. I used to read up on food poisoning. I imagined her dying in agony. All those years of misery. I won’t go through that again!”
He grabbed her hand. “Sometimes, to move on, you have to go back.” She jerked on her hand. He held tight. “You can’t have a nice childhood now. It’s over. But you could have your Mom back.”
She jerked harder. “No!”
“Call her.” He fished something out of his jeans pocket with his free hand and folded her fingers around it. She looked: Momma’s business card. “You have to.”
Crumpling the card in her hand, she yelled, “You have to wake up and grow up and get a job like a normal person! Or you’re gonna die single and bitter like your nasty old father!”
His face darkened. “Do you a deal, your highness. Call your mother and I’ll get a job.”
Now he was mad. She felt like crying, purely and simply because he was mad at her. Like an angry child, she pulled her free arm back and slugged him on the shoulder. He let go of her.
Hot tears spilled over. “You can’t make me,” she whimpered.
“Nobody can make anybody do anything,” he said stonily.
She noticed a hissing sound overhead. A moment later, it started to rain inside the theater. It was the rain curtain test. Buckets of rain, torrents of rain. She was soaked to the skin. King Dave s
tared at her, the anger washing out of his face and his dark curls going black and straight on his brow, looking calm, sad, implacable.
She turned and walked away forever from the devil, or angel, of her dreams.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Aren’t you the guy who fell off a light bridge into a cake?” were the first words the production manager said.
King Dave’s heart sank. “That was me. I was, uh, disappointed in love.”
He fidgeted. Would it be better to leave now and save time? He stared around the Galaxy PM’s office, noting new drywall and how they hadn’t yet vacced up the shreds of fresh carpeting. The guy who got this job would have a brand-new theater to play with. The stagehouse wall had never been pissed on. Never seen a blow job in the back alley. Never got dusty, never had a pipe fall because a piece of hemp frayed out. What would that be like?
The production manager said, “I guess,” and flashed him a not-unfriendly grin. He adjusted his little wire-rimmed glasses to read King Dave’s letters of reference. He looked about thirty-five. He wore a Jesus-person beard and khaki pants.
King Dave felt two inches high.
These college boys think they know everything. I’m a dumb fuck who flunked high school.
Oh, and also fell into a cake.
But god dammit, I have excellent skills. I can rig an entire fucking ballet company to fly. Can khaki-pants boy here do that?
“These are some good letters,” the production manager said. “I know Stan Newman. He’s in town, isn’t he?”
“Over to da Skyline,” King Dave said, hearing the nort’-wes’ side come out of his mouth.
“Good guy,” the production manager said absently. “I went to grad school with him. I’ll call him while the ballet’s here.”
I didn’t know Newman went to grad school, King Dave thought. How dumb do I look now?
Now the college boy was looking over his application. The beauty of the Local was that King Dave never had to fill one of these out. The worst forms he ever saw, barring the emergency room when he’d cracked his ribs, were W2s and the occasional I-9 to prove he was an American citizen.
King of Hearts Page 24
