Rumors from the Lost World by Alan Davis Page A

“T. J. Raines. The T. J. Raines.” He nodded to the woman. “And this is Trudy, my nearest and dearest. Let no man rend asunder what Mary Kay decrees.” The woman slapped him playfully and pulled on his moustache.
    In the bathroom, Raines urinated in fluorescent glare. Levoski, at the next latrine, thought about Niagara Falls, a trick his father taught him, but couldn’t forget the woman’s low-cut dress, her wink, her throaty voice. Hell, even his mother got loose on Christmas, wore red and green. Looking at Marge, you’d think it was somebody’s funeral.
    Raines touched his elbow. “ That never happens to women, you know?” he said. He zipped his slacks and copped a stance before the smudged mirror. “What’s your name again?”
    â€œLevoski. Leon Levoski.”
    â€œBond, James Bond.” Raines whooped. “Shake it three times, Leo, twice for fun and once for good luck. More than that, you’re playing with it.” Raines whooped again. His hair was thin, but each strand was carefully water-greased into place, much the way Paul had once done. Levoski’s jaws tightened. Something might have happened, maybe Paul was wounded, drugged, unconscious in some alley dumpster, helpless in a jerrybuilt shack.
    â€œMy wife’s in the bar,” he said. “You care to join us?”
    In the entranceway, the woman pulled her fur tight around her. “Jesus,” she said, “it’s cold. What you two been doing in there?”
    â€œHoney, you know how they say Pepsi’s the pause that refreshes? They got it wrong, sweetheart.” Raines laughed. “Anyway, you could’ve stood in the bar. I was getting to know Leo. Leo likes a good time.”
    â€œThat so, Leo? You look a little like my first husband, the man I never should have left.” She gave Raines a look and giggled, then grabbed Levoski’s upper arm. “I need somebody to dance with, honey. T. J. won’t dance to save his life. You like to dance?”
    Their festive spirits were contagious. Raines got Marge talking about Paul, Trudy hauled Leon to the dance floor. A menagerie of sighs and sexy flutters, her hair all fancy puffs, her black stockings right out of Frederick’s catalog, she melted against Leon. The duck-tailed singer smirked. “You know I once dated William Shatner? Captain Kirk?” she whispered. “On the dance floor, honey, he’d get as bothered as you.”
    Levoski blushed. She reminded him of convertibles and palm trees.
    â€œThat don’t mean you’re not worth corrupting, honey.” she said as they made their way back to the table.
    â€œAfter trade school,” Marge was saying, “he got with the wrong crowd, repaired diesel engines, and lived with the Incredible Hulk.”
    Raines tapped his fingers against his shot glass and motioned for another round. “Instead of trade school, you shoulda sent him to one of those prep schools.”
    â€œPrep school?” She squinted. There were dark circles under her eyes. “Now he’s stationed in the Philippines. I’m worried sick.”
    â€œHe’s safer in the Philippines than here,” Levoski said.
    â€œThe service was your idea, not his.” Her laugh echoed high and tinny.
    â€œCome off it, Marge. He made the decision. Anyway, I just wanted him out of trouble.”
    Trudy reached under the table and patted his thigh. “I wouldn’t worry. He sounds like a good kid.”
    â€œAnyway, what’s wrong with the service?” Raines said. “You ought to be proud.” The waitress came to settle up and he grabbed the slip, smiling complacently in a way that reminded Levoski of his father. Levoski protested, but the other man merely winked, and Trudy gave his thigh another squeeze. “Yeah, my man,” Raines said, “T. J. always picks up the tab. If it ever comes to the nitty-gritty, I have a whole zoo of