She Walks in Beauty (36 page)

Wayne couldn’t believe it. Dougie was going to ask
him
for a favor? That must be what getting an MBA from the Wharton School did, made your head big and then crazy.

“I was thinking about it, and I know she’d really like something like the one we saw in Uncle Tru’s office. Little old Crystal likes a little salt with her sugar, you know what I mean?”

Dougie licked his lips in a way that made Wayne want to throw up.

“You know the one of that big old girl whaling away on that guy? They were doing it, and then she’s giving it back to him as good as she got? You have anything else like that—maybe with two women? Too bad that’s the one Uncle Tru told you to erase.”

Wayne shook his head. “Don’t have it.”

“I know! That’s what I’m saying, it’s too bad you erased that one, but what about something else?”

What the hell was Dougie talking about? He hadn’t erased the tape.

That was one of the tapes that was stolen. That
Dougie
had stolen.

Dougie knew that. Or maybe that’s
why
he was doing this song and dance. Maybe after he’d nabbed the stuff, he’d screwed up that tape somehow, and now he was nosing around for another copy. Well, he could just go whistle Dixie for that. Not that Wayne had a copy anyway.

“I didn’t erase the tape, Dougie. What are you talking about?”

Dougie looked puzzled. “Of course you did. I was standing right there in the room when Uncle Tru saw what he was looking for, that pageant judge, that Kurt Roberts, said what he did about Uncle Tru’s girl, and Uncle Tru said ‘Okay, you can erase it now.’ Didn’t you do what he said?”

Erase
it
?

Wayne thought Mr. F said Erase
him.

37

“I hear you’re looking for a friend of mine.”

“Angelo’s your friend?”

“Crippled guy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Old
crippled guy.”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Runs a pizza parlor.”

“Right again.”

“Never heard of him.” And then Michelangelo laughed like a man who knows the world and his place in it and sleeps like a baby. “Samantha, why don’t you just tell me what you want, and I’ll pass it along. Angelo doesn’t like to talk with strangers.”

“He likes to talk with hotel maids.”

“Explain.”

So Sam told him about Angelo visiting Big Gloria, not just once, but twice, looking for Kurt Roberts.

“And what’s your interest?”

“I’m looking for Roberts too.”

“Because—?”

“Because he disappeared.”

“Sounds like a job for the ACPD.”

“It would be, if anybody reported him missing.”

“So he’s not missing?”

“Nobody seems to think so except me.”

“Who’s nobody?”

“The pageant staff, his office, his mother, his girlfriend in New York. His girlfriend here thought it strange he was here one minute, gone the next, but then—she hears voices, too. After enough vodka.”

“Not a reliable witness?”

“Not exactly.”

“What did the voices tell her?”

“You really want to know?”

“I’m waiting.”

“She said there were voices in her room that told her she’d be hurt if she—she’s a preliminary judge for the pageant—if she didn’t vote for Miss X to make the final ten. She thinks something happened to Roberts because he didn’t like Miss X. Or at least that’s what she thought a couple of days ago. Yesterday she seemed to be considering suing me for slander.”

“You’re kidding.” Ma was impressed. “So, who’s Miss X?”

“She wouldn’t tell me.”

“That’s pretty funny. Sounds like a great gimmick for a bookie, he could get voices to speak to quarterbacks, jockeys, pitchers.”

“Uh-huh.” Then she paused, trying to frame the next question.

“
I’m
not making book on the pageant, if that’s what you want to know. There’s no percentage in it. Wouldn’t be good business.”

“It had occurred to me.”

“Now why’d I tell you that? You going to ask me that next?”

“Right.”

“I hate to see a nice woman like you wasting her time. You think there’s betting on Miss America, I’m telling you there’s not. Sports, that’s another story. But you don’t want to go around asking questions about that.”

“Got it. But let’s just say, speaking hypothetically, if someone
were
making book on Miss A, would the odds come from Vegas?”

“Sure. Hypothetically. That’s where all they all come from. On anything. Who’ll be in the Super Bowl. Which unions’ll go on
strike this year. Which Latin dictators are going to fall down boom boom and hurt themselves.”

“How would they be made—on the girls? Hypothetically?”

“Well, the closest thing would be race horses. You’d look at the stats. Which states have won a lot?”

“California, Michigan, Pennsylvania, Mississippi, Texas, Oklahoma.”

Then Michelangelo started to noodle around with the idea. “Being a fan of the pageant, I’d say your minorities stand a good chance. After that, blondes over brunettes.”

“Redheads aren’t big winners. Freckles don’t photograph well.”

“I’d spot tall over short.”

“What do you think about talent?”

“Piano or singing over some oddball thing. Then, once the prelims begin, you’ve got your swimsuit and talent scores. You know swimsuit’s the biggie. Of course,
if
you were doing it, any money that went down before midnight Thursday is sucker money. After that, things get serious.”

“After the preliminaries are over?”

“Sure. They’re like the playoffs. After those, you’ve got your ten.”

“But we don’t know who the ten are until Saturday night.”

“
You
don’t know.”

“You do?”

“Sammy, Sammy. It’s a small town.”

“Uh-huh. And you’re still telling me nobody’s making book?”

Michelangelo laughed. “Right. You sound like somebody dying to put down some money.”

“I don’t think so. I’m already overextended.”

“Look. My advice to you would be this: Take what I just gave you if you want to play around with what-ifs in a story. I’ll be your ‘informed source.’”

“I appreciate that.”

“And forget nosing around. I’m serious.”

“I understand. But can you tell me one more thing?”

Michelangelo sighed. “I can try.”

“Has anybody ever fixed the pageant?”

“Not that I know of. Naaah. It’d be too hard. What’re you gonna do? Buy off both sets of judges? It might’ve been easier when there was one. Now with two—too many variables, too many pockets, too many mouths. Naaah. I’d say it can’t be done.”

And that was indeed the truth—as Michelangelo saw it. He’d done a little asking around since his conversation with Willie, and the pageant did seem to be bribeproof.

“So
that
wouldn’t be why your friend Angelo was looking for Kurt Roberts?”

“Usually, I’d say, if Ange was looking for somebody, it’s because the somebody owed him money.”

“Ange is in the habit of lending people money?”

“Ange can be a very generous man.”

“I see. And how do you think he might feel about someone who took advantage of his generosity?”

“I think he’d take a dim view of it.”

“Uh-huh. So, you think it might be possible for
you
to ask Ange if he found Mr. Roberts?”

“I think it would be. But I want to get back to your interest in this Roberts. I fancy myself a student of human psychology, and what I’m hearing you say is that you’re going to a lot of trouble to track down a guy simply because you
think
he’s missing—even though nobody else does? And nobody else cares?”

“Well, I have these intuitions. Feelings.”

“Hunches. Yeah, I know a lot about hunches. Lot of people in AC have hunches. They can be very expensive—you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, well, mine could, too. If I’m wrong, I stand to lose a bundle.”

“This is a bet? The Kurt Roberts thing is a bet?” Michelangelo’s laughter this time was richer than Angelina’s chocolate gelato.

38

Lana DeLucca sat at her dressing table teasing her hair, which didn’t seem to want to behave this morning. It was a crying shame, she thought, knowing that you couldn’t trust anybody anymore. Oh, the girls acted like they were the sweetest. They’d do anything for you. Lend you lipstick, nail polish, you name it.

And steal your custom-made evening gown.

Well, Michelangelo had certainly come through in a pinch on that one. The dress he’d had delivered to the dressing room wasn’t the same, of course, but it was close. The thing was, once she’d realized these girls were like anybody else, it had made her uneasy. That meant the pageant was like real life. Disaster could strike again at any time. From any place.

Lana narrowed her eyes—she was more than a little nearsighted—and peered across the room. Naked girls were everywhere, changing into swimsuits and wraps for the beach number rehearsal. That was one thing about this pageant business. You couldn’t afford to be modest. Every time you turned around, somebody was stripping you down, zipping you up, measuring your butt, your boobs, your body fat, your muscle tone, taping, spraying, teasing, combing, currying you. Now she knew how her Uncle Jimmy’s racehorses felt.

Well, it was almost over. Rehearsals the rest of today and the parade this evening. More rehearsals tomorrow, and then the finals, and they could all go home and fall down. And pork up. Lose those diets.

Except Miss America, who would hit the road.

And Misses Louisiana and Texas, who would be swimming with the fishes if she had her way.

Look at them over there, giggling together. She bet they were lovers. She just bet. She’d never liked Southern girls. She couldn’t understand a word they were saying. And these two thought they were
so
smart. Taking the wind out of her Jersey Devil story. That big redheaded Connors giving girls financial advice like she was some kind of stockbroker, for chrissakes. The other one, Magic, reading palms, telling fortunes, making everybody laugh with her tricks. Pulling coins out of ears, rabbits out of makeup kits. She bet that’s what they’d done with her dress—just made it disappear.

She knew it was them. All sweetness and light like they were just here having a good time, didn’t give a hoot about winning.

That
was a joke. Any girl here would sell her first kid to win, and anybody who said different was full of it.

Well, they weren’t getting to her again. She had her dresses and her costumes hidden away in a place in her hotel so safe they’d never think of it.

So there!

“Hi, Lana, how y’doing?” It was Rae Ann, Miss Georgia. Now she was different. She really
was
sweet. And, like real. “Have you been doing your visualizations?” Rae Ann asked.

Lana didn’t know what she was talking about.

“You know, what I told you the other day. I do this every time before I step on a stage. You draw an imaginary circle on the floor, and in that circle is what you want. You stand outside that circle and you really concentrate on what you want. And then you concentrate on what it’s going to feel like when you have it. When you can really feel that, feel it in your bones, then you step inside the circle, and it’s like a glow comes all over you. Then you
know.
You
have
it.”

Lana frowned, and that little wrinkle appeared between her eyes. She’d felt tingly glows before, sure, but they didn’t have anything to do with imagining. They were real. Rae Ann was so religious, though, she probably didn’t want to hear about them. But speaking of religion. “That may work for
you,
Rae Ann, but I wonder the same thing about that as I wonder about guys praying before, like, a football game.”

“Huh?”

“Well, you know. If the Giants pray to win, and then let’s say the Redskins pray to win, how does God decide?”

“Well, gosh, Lana, I don’t know. I never thought about it like that before.”

“This is the same thing. If we
all
imagine stepping in that circle and winning, what’s gonna happen? Does God flip a coin like the umpire at the beginning of the game, or what? Or is it like little kids asking for things from Santa Claus? Is it whether you’ve been naughty or nice?”

Rae Ann just stared at Lana. Lana could tell Rae Ann was super-impressed with all this philosophical stuff.

Just about then, wouldn’t you just know, Miss Louisiana waltzed over and leaned down to her and said, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and there’s something I’ve got to tell you. In fact, I dreamed about you last night.”