exhilarating glimpses of
evil. By eye contact alone, and this done in a few seconds, she
conveyed to me precisely how uneasy she was with The Goose as her
chaperon. A quick glance at him, then at me, then a lift of the
eyebrows and twist of the pursed lips, was my clue that The Goose was
a guardian of negative entertainment value.
"I wanna dance," she said to Jack. "Jackie,
I'm dying to dance. Speed, play us something so we can dance."
"It's too early to dance," Jack said.
"No. it isn't"—and her entire body did a
shimmy in anticipation. "Come on, Joey, come on, puh-leeeze."
"My fingers don't wake up till nine o'clock at
night," Fogarty said. "Or after six beers."
"Aw, Joey."
Fogarty hadn't sat down yet. He looked at Jack who
smiled and shrugged, and so Fogarty went to the piano on the elevated
bandstand and, with what I'd call a semipro's know-how, snapped out a
peppy version of "Twelfth Street Rag." Kiki was up with the
first four bars, pulling Jack to his feet. Jack reluctantly took an
armful of Kiki, then whisked her around in a very respectable
foxtrot, dancing on the balls of his feet with sureness and
lightness. Fogarty segued into the "Charleston" and then
the "Black Bottom," and Kiki split from Jack and broke into
bouncily professional arm maneuvers and kicks, showing a bit of
garter.
Interested as I was in Kiki's star and garter
performance, it was Jack who took my attention. Was Legs Diamond
really about to perform in public? He stood still when Kiki broke
away, watched her for a step or two, then assessed his audience,
especially the bar where Charlie Northrup and the barkeep were giving
Jack full eyeball.
" C'mon, Jackie," said Kiki, her breasts in
fascinating upheaval. Jack looked at her and his feet began to move,
left out. right kick, right back, left back, basic, guarded,
small-dimensioned movements, and then "C'mon. dance," Kiki
urged, and he gave up his consciousness of the crowd and then left
out, right kick, right back, left back expanded, vitalized, and he
was dancing, arms swinging, dancing, Jack Diamond, who seemed to do
everything well, was dancing the Charleston and Black Bottom, dancing
them perfectly, the way all America had always wanted to be able to
dance them—energetically, controlled, as professionally graceful as
his partner who had danced these dances for money in Broadway shows,
who had danced them for Ziegfeld; and now she was dancing on the
mountaintop with the king of the mountain, and they were king and
queen of motion together, fluid with Fogarty's melody and beat.
And then above the music, above the pounding of
Fogarty's foot, above the heavy breathing and shuffling of Jack and
Kiki and above the concentration that we of the small audience were
fixing on the performance, there came the laughter. You resisted
acknowledging that it was laughter, for there was nothing funny going
on in the room and so it must be something else, you said to
yourself. But it grew in strength and strangeness, for once you did
acknowledge that yes, that's laughter all right, and you said,
somebody's laughing at them, and you remembered where you were and
who you were with, you turned (and we all turned) and saw Charlie
Northrup at the end of the Z bar. pounding the bar with the open palm
of his right hand, laughing too hard. The bartender told him a joke,
was my thought. but then Charlie lifted the palm and pointed to Jack
and Kiki and spluttered to the barman and we all heard, because
Fogarty had heard the laughing and stopped playing and so there was
no music when Charlie said, "Dancin'. . . the big man's dancin'
. . . dancin' the Charleston on Sunday afternoon . . . and then Jack
stopped. And Kiki stopped six beats after the music had and said,
"What happened?"
Jack led her to the table and said, "We're going
to have a drink," and moved her arm and made sure she sat down
before he walked to the bar and spoke to Charlie Northrup in such a
low voice that we couldn't hear. Charlie had stopped
evil. By eye contact alone, and this done in a few seconds, she
conveyed to me precisely how uneasy she was with The Goose as her
chaperon. A quick glance at him, then at me, then a lift of the
eyebrows and twist of the pursed lips, was my clue that The Goose was
a guardian of negative entertainment value.
"I wanna dance," she said to Jack. "Jackie,
I'm dying to dance. Speed, play us something so we can dance."
"It's too early to dance," Jack said.
"No. it isn't"—and her entire body did a
shimmy in anticipation. "Come on, Joey, come on, puh-leeeze."
"My fingers don't wake up till nine o'clock at
night," Fogarty said. "Or after six beers."
"Aw, Joey."
Fogarty hadn't sat down yet. He looked at Jack who
smiled and shrugged, and so Fogarty went to the piano on the elevated
bandstand and, with what I'd call a semipro's know-how, snapped out a
peppy version of "Twelfth Street Rag." Kiki was up with the
first four bars, pulling Jack to his feet. Jack reluctantly took an
armful of Kiki, then whisked her around in a very respectable
foxtrot, dancing on the balls of his feet with sureness and
lightness. Fogarty segued into the "Charleston" and then
the "Black Bottom," and Kiki split from Jack and broke into
bouncily professional arm maneuvers and kicks, showing a bit of
garter.
Interested as I was in Kiki's star and garter
performance, it was Jack who took my attention. Was Legs Diamond
really about to perform in public? He stood still when Kiki broke
away, watched her for a step or two, then assessed his audience,
especially the bar where Charlie Northrup and the barkeep were giving
Jack full eyeball.
" C'mon, Jackie," said Kiki, her breasts in
fascinating upheaval. Jack looked at her and his feet began to move,
left out. right kick, right back, left back, basic, guarded,
small-dimensioned movements, and then "C'mon. dance," Kiki
urged, and he gave up his consciousness of the crowd and then left
out, right kick, right back, left back expanded, vitalized, and he
was dancing, arms swinging, dancing, Jack Diamond, who seemed to do
everything well, was dancing the Charleston and Black Bottom, dancing
them perfectly, the way all America had always wanted to be able to
dance them—energetically, controlled, as professionally graceful as
his partner who had danced these dances for money in Broadway shows,
who had danced them for Ziegfeld; and now she was dancing on the
mountaintop with the king of the mountain, and they were king and
queen of motion together, fluid with Fogarty's melody and beat.
And then above the music, above the pounding of
Fogarty's foot, above the heavy breathing and shuffling of Jack and
Kiki and above the concentration that we of the small audience were
fixing on the performance, there came the laughter. You resisted
acknowledging that it was laughter, for there was nothing funny going
on in the room and so it must be something else, you said to
yourself. But it grew in strength and strangeness, for once you did
acknowledge that yes, that's laughter all right, and you said,
somebody's laughing at them, and you remembered where you were and
who you were with, you turned (and we all turned) and saw Charlie
Northrup at the end of the Z bar. pounding the bar with the open palm
of his right hand, laughing too hard. The bartender told him a joke,
was my thought. but then Charlie lifted the palm and pointed to Jack
and Kiki and spluttered to the barman and we all heard, because
Fogarty had heard the laughing and stopped playing and so there was
no music when Charlie said, "Dancin'. . . the big man's dancin'
. . . dancin' the Charleston on Sunday afternoon . . . and then Jack
stopped. And Kiki stopped six beats after the music had and said,
"What happened?"
Jack led her to the table and said, "We're going
to have a drink," and moved her arm and made sure she sat down
before he walked to the bar and spoke to Charlie Northrup in such a
low voice that we couldn't hear. Charlie had stopped
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