Vicky Banning (12 page)

Vicky reverted to her Mae West persona as she looked up at the two of them. “Well, fellas,” she said. “I don’t want to wear you out, you know. And since there are only two of you…do you think you can…handle it?”

The ticket taker looked curiously at Steve when he asked for three tickets, but passed them through with a warning that the seat would be cramped, which was a great understatement. Steve’s shoulders alone could have spanned the backrest by themselves, and Vicky loved it. But, when the car swayed through the endless, insipid music toward the end, and bumped open the swinging door into the sunshine, her face was pulled into an exaggerated frown. “There was nothing
inside
,” she complained, “just darkness.”

“Well, of course,” said Steve. “Haven’t you ever been in a Tunnel of Love before?”

“Of course,” Vicky said brusquely, “but never with my eyes open. I was always too busy to notice what was inside.”

They continued to stroll into the afternoon, stopping for popcorn with melted butter, frankfurters, and anything else Vicky was denied at the Sanctuary. If she’d known that the dietician was going to be such an old fuss-budget, she never would have given over her medical records.

“Try your luck at the Wheel of Fortune,” they heard a man call. “A quarter a spin and you take home a prize.”

The three turned to watch as a man in a straw hat and a candy-striped shirt spun a huge wheel round and round, waiting for enough people to plunk down their money. A little colored girl with pigtails and a too-small dress stood a short distance away, her hands clasped behind her back. She was ogling the elaborately dressed dolls that smiled brightly outward from the top shelf.

Stepping up to the counter, Vicky scrutinized the dolls. They weren’t new, she noticed; not used, either, but faded slightly, as if dusty with age.

“Try your luck, lady?” the man asked.

Vicky smiled shyly. “Not just now,” she said. “I think I’ll just watch for a while.”

“No time like the present,” he urged.

How original
, she thought, but continued to smile, without moving forward.

“Here we go, then,” the man announced, and gave the wheel a hefty push, before crossing to the far end of the counter. “Round and round she goes and where she stops nobody knows.”

The gent is a veritable Shakespeare
, Vicky decided, and watched him closely as he leaned on the counter.

The wheel spun slower and slower and, even before it came to a halt, the man called, “No winner this time ladies and gentlemen, but there’s sure to be one on the next spin of the Wheel of Dreams. Pick your favorite numbers, folks. You can’t win if you don’t play.” He moved along the counter, swooping the quarters into a pocket-apron tied to his waist.

Vicky leaned over the counter, studying the flattened ground behind it. She then grimaced, knowingly. “Mister,” she called sweetly. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

“Sure, lady,” the man said agreeably, then called to the crowd, “Get your money down, folks, Try your luck! The Wheel goes round and round, and it might be your turn to win.” He strode to where Vicky was standing. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

Vicky smiled brightly. “You see that little girl over there?” she asked, pointing. “The colored girl in the pink dress?”

“Yeah,” he said. “What about her?”

“Well,” said Vicky, all prim and proper. “I’m going to give her a quarter to play on your wheel…and she’s going to win a doll.”

The man looked oddly at her. He then smiled with understanding. “Oh, I get it. You want to buy her a doll and have me pretend that she won it, right? Sure, why not? The dolls are twenty-five bucks apiece.”

“Wrong,” said Vicky, smiling still, but shaking her head. “You don’t understand. The little girl is going to win the doll, and all it’s going to cost me is a quarter.”

“Sorry, lady. This is a game of chance. I ain’t no charity. I’m in business to make money not give it away.”

“No you
ain’t
, Sonny,” Vicky said, dropping her smile along with the timbre of her voice. “You’re in the business to
steal
money. Your wheel is rigged, and you did a sloppy job of hiding the underground wire leading to the pedal at the other end where you control the spin.”

The man was dumbstruck, his face flushing deeply as he shook his head in futile denial.

“Does the girl win the doll,” Vicky persisted, “or do I call the police and have you spend a couple of years in jail? I doubt this would be your first offense. Make up your mind.
Now
!”

“You’re
lookin
’ for trouble, lady,” the man threatened.

“Right on, sweetie,” Vicky said, gesturing to Roger and Steve who had been standing off at a distance. “And I’ve got two bodyguards with me for whenever I find it.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder as the two men approached.

The man glowered at her, then at her “bodyguards.” “Okay,” he said, “send her over.”

Vicky beamed. “Just consider it a form of profit-sharing,” she said and, since things were going so well, decided to press it. “Another thing, either tear up that wire and play it square, or keep away from that pedal. The people here will lose enough money on their own, but it’ll be for charity—not to line your pockets! I’ll be back to check up on you, just remember…Big Mother is watching you!” With a mental apology to George Orwell, she ambled over to the little girl. “Do you like those dolls, sweetheart?” she asked.

The girl looked up at her with bright, dark eyes, a bit startled and a lot shy. She smiled and hung her head. “They pretty,” she said softly. Her hands still clasped, she pivoted her shoulders from side to side, a toe propped behind her.

“Do you think you would like to have one?” Vicky asked. “If I give you my lucky quarter, you could win one, you know.”

The child looked up, a curious tilt to her head, studying Vicky out of the corners of her eyes, her brow creased in thought. “Could I? Really?”

“You certainly could,” Vicky said and offered her the coin.

The girl’s shoulders pivoted with more energy as she eyed the quarter, but she shook her head, saying, “Mama says that I shouldn’t never take
nothin
’ from strangers.’”

Vicky frowned. What a pity that children had to be taught such things—necessary, but still a pity. “Your mama’s right,” she said. “But if you don’t take the quarter, the luck will go to waste. It’s only good for one day, and I’m going home now.”

Such wastefulness would be a sin, Vicky was able to convince the child, and watched as she took the quarter and rushed up to the counter, pigtails bouncing behind her. She looked up and down the row of numbers, uncertain where to place the lucky piece. Finally, she closed her eyes and laid it on a number without looking.

Retuning to Roger and Steve, Vicky told them of the con game, while the girl waited excitedly, watching the mirrors flash on the giant wheel. When the shrieks of “I won! I won!” reached them, they turned to leave, but not until after Vicky signaled the wheel-man with a thumbs up and a shaking “now-now” finger that said,
Watch it, Buddy! I’ll be watching you!
He nodded and frowned in response, before turning away.

“How did you know the wheel was fixed?” Steve asked.

“Those dolls are old,” Vicky explained. “They’ve obviously been around a long time. Since someone has to win occasionally, or no one would play, they plant a shill in the crowd now and then, make sure he or she wins, and then put the dolls back on the shelf the following day.”

Roger laughed, a bit astonished. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“Honey,” Vicky drawled—Mae West was back—“I was an old hand at carneys when that guy thought a ‘mark’ was the grade on a kindergarten test paper.”

“Hello, Governor’s office?” Sarah said into the phone. She was reading from the script written by Vicky. “This is Ms. Vicky
Banning’s
secretary, from
The New York Times
, calling. Ms. Banning is our Seniors’ Affairs Correspondent, and she would like to make an appointment to talk with the governor on an urgent matter.”

She paused, looking across at Vicky and Doris, seated on the bed beneath Mark Spitz’s boyish grin, as she listened. “One of his
assistants?
” she said indignantly. “Ms. Sanders, I said this is
The New York Times
calling, and
The Times
does not talk with assistants! I also said that this was urgent. I’m sure…”

“Let me have the phone,” Vicky said, reaching out toward Sarah. “Miss Sanders. Yes, hello, dear. I am Vicky Banning. Are you the governor’s private secretary? Oh, good, then you probably know more of what’s happening in the capital than anyone else. I was a private secretary for years and years myself, you know”—she laughed lightly—“and we know that we’re more up on things than our bosses are, don’t we? Well, listen dear, I appreciate your offer to arrange an interview with one of the governor’s assistants, but I’d suggest that you check with the governor first. Understand, dear, that I’m not trying to tell you your job—being secretary to such a powerful man, you must be extremely capable and efficient—but the matter I wish to discuss with him is of a
criminal
nature. I’m sure that he confides in you anyway, so I’ll tell you what it’s all about…but I doubt that he would want anyone else to know that these
charges
even exist, not even one of his assistants.”

Vicky listened for a moment, her face intent, then a grin crept across her lips and she winked at her cohorts. When she spoke, her voice was lowered in conspiracy. “It seems that a great number of people have evidence that the governor and the mayor of Jamesville are plotting to sell
public
property to some underworld figures, to build a
private
club. And that some top officials are being paid off with dirty money. Now, I personally believe the governor to epitomize the highest standards of government, but the evidence…”

She paused again to listen. “Please calm down, dear. I agree with you! His reputation is flawless! That’s why I’d like to speak with him…before I put anything into print. You know how influential
The Times
is, dear, some people would interpret the story as an immediate condemnation, and not wait for actual proof. I’d hate to instigate a full,
governmental investigation
without hearing the governor’s…Yes, dear, I’ll hold on.”

After a few moments, she said, “No, I’m quite close by, in Jamesville. I could be there in an hour.” She nodded. “That would be lovely, then, before lunch.
The Grenadier
on
Main
? Don’t worry, I’ll find it. And thank you very much, my dear. The governor is lucky to have a woman with such executive capabilities on his staff.” She hung up the phone, spread her hands. “
Voilà
!”

Doris and Sarah turned to each other and laughed out loud, shaking their heads in amazement. “You make it seem so easy,”
Doris
said. “How do you think up all those things so quickly?”

“Years of training, my dear,” Vicky answered. “My husband, Gerald, and I toured with all sorts of theatre companies. We’d have such fun trying to trip each other up by ad-libbing, just to see how the other would react. It became a game with us.” She laughed. “It used to drive the other actors right up the wall. They never knew what to expect from us, but we became so proficient that they began to look forward to it. Today they call it improvisation, but then we just called it fun.”

Sarah appeared skeptical. “That might have worked before audiences who didn’t know the lines,” she said, “but will you be able to carry it off with a governor?”

“Governor,
shmovernor
,” Vicky said, with a wave of her hand. “Gerald and I performed before some of the so-called crowned heads of
Europe
, so a governor should be a piece of cake.” At least
I hope so
, she added mentally.

“What sort of performing did you do?” Sarah asked.

Vicky splayed her arms. “Everything from slapstick to Shakespeare, musicals to mime. We even played burlesque for a while. Whatever took our fancy.” She smiled softly. “Our favorite, though, was French mime, my
Pierrette
to his
Pierrot
. It was one of our most successful, too.” Her smile compressed to a smirk. “I remember one night—we were playing in a little theater on the
Algarve
—when Gerald decided to ad-lib, in
mime
, mind you. He nearly threw me completely. I was left standing there like a
boob
…have you ever tried calling someone a dastardly
rotter
in pantomime?”

The three women laughed together. “Speaking of ‘rat finks,’” Vicky continued to
Doris
, “let’s drive past the mayor’s house on our way to
Harrisburg
. I’m curious to see what kind of a home he has. Or does he really live in his ‘Black Beauty,’ as well as spending all of his supposed working hours in it?”

* * * *

The house was like every other on the heavily tree-lined street: a white, two-story affair with blue shutters, and lacy curtains at each window. But at the mayor’s house a crew of construction workers was active, building an extension on one side, above the driveway. A new garage was in its skeletal stage. Judging from the outline, it was to have a room above it. Vicky cocked her head as she studied its size.

“Mayor Lambert must be planning to sleep with Black Beauty as well,” she said as she and
Doris
peered through the car window.

Doris
shook her head. “It’s incredible. I’ve never heard of a man going so completely fanatical over a car before.
Porsche
, or not.”

“Status symbol,” Vicky stated, studying the house critically. “Some men decorate their wives, others display their property.” She frowned. “We’d better get on to
Harrisburg
. Wouldn’t want to keep the governor waiting.”

They drove in silence, Vicky deep in thought, both about what she hadn’t seen at the mayor’s house, and how she could broach the subject of Roger and Steve with
Doris
. When a woman loses a man, especially to another man, you don’t approach the topic flippantly, and Vicky didn’t want to chance alienating
Doris
while trying to be helpful to the threesome.

“How did you get into show business?”
Doris
asked, rousing Vicky from her thoughts.

Vicky grinned, remembering. “By accident,” she replied. “Gerald was in the business already, ‘treading the boards,’ as they say, when I married him. My father had arranged for us to sail first class on the
Mauritania
to
England
as a wedding present, to visit Gerald’s father. Oh, it was a wonderful honeymoon: sunrises and sunsets on the sea, elegant dining, beautiful people, dancing. Well, one evening in the first class lounge, Gerald started playing the piano, softly, just for me, and to sing to me as well. When I joined in, we sang love duets. So enraptured were we with each other that we didn’t notice the crowd gathering around the piano at a discreet distance, until we finished one particularly emotional song. The audience applauded loudly and enthusiastically, calling for more, more, more!” She laughed delightedly. “Needless to say, I loved it!”

“You must have been very good.”

“Oh, we were!” Vicky exclaimed. “Oh, and make no mistake about my false modesty, my dear. I don’t have any. We were marvelous! So much so that, after we left the piano and returned to our table, the President of
Cunard
Lines
, a walrus of a man with a flashy waistcoat, approached and introduced himself to us. He asked if we would be interested in entertaining on the
Laconia
, on its round-the-world cruise.
Interested
? We’d have scrubbed floors to be part of a cruise like—well, not really, but almost. In those days, only the wealthiest people in the world could afford the time and money for such extravagance. A cruise of that sort was like a luxurious yacht party.

“When the man left, Gerald turned to me and said, ‘You certainly fared well for a first audition, my darling. If we’d been in a
Soho
pub, you’d probably have gotten us booked as headliners at the Palladium!’ And that sums up my struggle, heartache and sacrifice for the wonderful world of show-biz.”

“Some struggle,”
Doris
said with a smirk, joining Vicky in mock anguish. “The right time and the right place, I’d call it. But how wonderful for you. What did you do after that?”

“Oh, we sailed for many years,” Vicky said, “until the threat of war became a frightening reality. We formed our own acting company and traveled about
Europe
until it became too dangerous. We even played the West End of London at one point, but quit to go back on the road. After that, we returned to the
United States
, operating and acting in road companies. We were vagabonds, in a way, never wanting to play in one place very long. Our greatest joy was to play opposite each other in a new, exciting theatre, in a new place, looking forward to the next venue. Our worst nightmare would have been not to have the freedom to roam.

“When Keith was born, he came with us, which was such fun too.
Asia
,
North Africa
,
Australia
…wherever English was spoken, we went.” She smiled, her eyes gazing distantly, way beyond the windshield. “Gerald and I were wonderfully paired, so perfectly matched in every way and wanting only the best for each other. What we had was…my goodness; I’m carrying on like a parrot. Excuse me, I don’t normally blabber on so. I guess I’ve come to think of you as family.”

“Don’t apologize,”
Doris
blurted. “I’m flattered, and also fascinated. It sounds as if you’ve led a thrilling life, you and Gerald. I wish…”

Vicky waited, but
Doris
didn’t finish her sentence. They were entering the outskirts of
Harrisburg
, too late for the subject of Steve to be broached. Circling a number of streets near the capitol building,
Doris
located the
Grenadier Restaurant
and drove into the parking lot at its rear. “I think I’ll grab some lunch, myself,”
Doris
announced. “I saw an ice cream parlor on the last street. You can find me there when you’re ready.”

“Diet banana split?” Vicky asked.

Doris
looked askance at her. “To start with, but I’ll tell them to leave off the chocolate sprinkles. Don’t spend all day at your luncheon, or I may eat the parlor out of all its flavors.”

“Sounds luscious,” Vicky said with a laugh, getting out of the car. “Maybe I’ll cut the meeting short and join you in decadent gluttony. How do I look?” She turned slowly, allowing
Doris
to view and applaud her outfit. She’d worn a trim suit of navy blue, its skirt cut just below the knee. The severity was softened by a frilly white blouse. A dark, lacy hat perched on the back of her silver hair like an uncertain halo.

“Business-chic,”
Doris
decided. “Like Roz Russell in
His Gal Friday.
”

Vicky laughed with surprise. “Exactly the look I wanted, but I’d have thought you were too young to have seen that movie.”

Doris
grinned. “The salvation of the mature, single female,” she said. “Late night television.”

“I know what you mean,” Vicky agreed, with a nod. “Now all we have to do is find ourselves a couple of Cary Grants to go with the outfit.”

“Good luck,” said
Doris
. “But if you can find only one, I’ll settle for a poor-gal’s Clark Gable, or any available guy who appreciates”—she hefted her bosom—“voluptuous women.”

As
Doris
drove away, Vicky entered the
Grenadier
through the parking entrance. “I’m Vicky Banning of
The New York Times
, ” she told the maître d’. She pronounced it
Tha
Noo
Yawk
Toimes
, since so many think that all New Yorkers speak like Barbra
Streisand’s
Fanny Brice in
Funny Girl
. “The governor is expecting me.”