someone gripe that I’m building too fast before.
C’mon
, Roger. You’re running the greatest show on earth here, and you’re worrying about what little old me is doing in my sandbox?”
Roger senses people just beyond his peripheral vision. “I just like it,” he says softly, “when people do what they say they’re going to.”
Malcolm nods sympathetically, as if the real issue is Roger’s temperament.
“Hilton Hotels,” Roger mumbles, “wants an acre between Forty-fifthand Fiftieth just west of the freeway. If you can piece together a proposal they like within ninety days, they’ll pay well over appraisal.” He fishes a card from an interior pocket. “President’s name is Sizemore.” He glances up in time to see Teddy waving him over.
“Thanks,” Malcolm says, beaming once again. “Trust me, if I even take a leak on that Roanoke site, you’ll be the first to know.”
Teddy leans into him when he arrives. “Looked like you needed to be rescued from that weasel. Walk me out?”
Free at last, they stroll beneath muted stars. “These people all want a piece of you, Rog. You know that, right? You’re not stupid enough to think they
like
you. I mean, where were they even a year ago? Now they’re already asking, what’s next? If Roger can pull this off, what’s next? Did you have to glad-hand Vitullo?”
Roger squints. “The tavern owner?”
“Yeah, right. He runs strip clubs. The Firelight’s his cash cow. And he wants to open more.”
“How’d he get in here?”
“You tell me.”
“What’d the mayor have to say?”
“ ‘What a great fair!’ He’s a cheerleader now like the rest of ’em. And he, of course,
desperately
wants to meet Elvis if he shows up. Blah, blah, blah. Says this new U.S. attorney’s got his dick in a knot over what that bar owner said about the police. Guess he’s astonished,” Teddy whispers, “that in a state where gambling is illegal—surprise, surprise—there’s still a little wagering going on.”
“Ed Sullivan told me this place reminds him of Nevada.”
“Right. And I’m Marlon Brando’s twin brother. He was pulling your leg.”
“He’s not a joker.”
Teddy relights a cigarette he’d forgotten about.
“Weren’t you surprised to see Beck in there?” Roger asks.
“As good a place as any for people to kiss his ring.”
“He actually seems pretty harmless.”
Teddy laughs. “Be sure to mention that when you visit him in the clink.”
“He’ll get off, won’t he?”
“Not even Dave Beck gets off this time.”
“Bob Hope said he might swing by later.”
Teddy snorts. “Not a fan. Linda waiting up for you?”
“Yeah, I’ll get there eventually.”
Teddy grins. “You’ll hit the wall one of these days is what you’re gonna do.” He steps back, spins gracefully and starts off, flicking his Chesterfield ahead of him and squishing it under his heel without breaking stride.
“Who can sleep,” Roger half-shouts, revived and exuberant all over again, “when there’s only one hundred and fifty-one days left of this damn thing?”
Teddy raises a thumb up high without looking back.
Charging back inside, Roger notices six tables cluttered with dirty glasses and overflowing ashtrays. He doesn’t want to complain, so he grabs a tub and busses them himself, his swift efficiency clearing his head.
Afterward, he finds the governor off by himself, his eyes grazing on three young women at a nearby table, his smoldering cigarette confirming that he’s well into his second scotch. “Like to meet Count Basie?” Roger asks.
Big Ed’s eyes widen. “He’s here?”
“Follow me.”
Basie’s table is packed with new drunks, the lone holdover from his earlier entourage being the woman beside him, her luminous skin reflecting the light.
Before making introductions, Roger asks the governor what Teddy has been wanting him to ask for months now. “You hear anything to make you think the city or the fair could be a
C’mon
, Roger. You’re running the greatest show on earth here, and you’re worrying about what little old me is doing in my sandbox?”
Roger senses people just beyond his peripheral vision. “I just like it,” he says softly, “when people do what they say they’re going to.”
Malcolm nods sympathetically, as if the real issue is Roger’s temperament.
“Hilton Hotels,” Roger mumbles, “wants an acre between Forty-fifthand Fiftieth just west of the freeway. If you can piece together a proposal they like within ninety days, they’ll pay well over appraisal.” He fishes a card from an interior pocket. “President’s name is Sizemore.” He glances up in time to see Teddy waving him over.
“Thanks,” Malcolm says, beaming once again. “Trust me, if I even take a leak on that Roanoke site, you’ll be the first to know.”
Teddy leans into him when he arrives. “Looked like you needed to be rescued from that weasel. Walk me out?”
Free at last, they stroll beneath muted stars. “These people all want a piece of you, Rog. You know that, right? You’re not stupid enough to think they
like
you. I mean, where were they even a year ago? Now they’re already asking, what’s next? If Roger can pull this off, what’s next? Did you have to glad-hand Vitullo?”
Roger squints. “The tavern owner?”
“Yeah, right. He runs strip clubs. The Firelight’s his cash cow. And he wants to open more.”
“How’d he get in here?”
“You tell me.”
“What’d the mayor have to say?”
“ ‘What a great fair!’ He’s a cheerleader now like the rest of ’em. And he, of course,
desperately
wants to meet Elvis if he shows up. Blah, blah, blah. Says this new U.S. attorney’s got his dick in a knot over what that bar owner said about the police. Guess he’s astonished,” Teddy whispers, “that in a state where gambling is illegal—surprise, surprise—there’s still a little wagering going on.”
“Ed Sullivan told me this place reminds him of Nevada.”
“Right. And I’m Marlon Brando’s twin brother. He was pulling your leg.”
“He’s not a joker.”
Teddy relights a cigarette he’d forgotten about.
“Weren’t you surprised to see Beck in there?” Roger asks.
“As good a place as any for people to kiss his ring.”
“He actually seems pretty harmless.”
Teddy laughs. “Be sure to mention that when you visit him in the clink.”
“He’ll get off, won’t he?”
“Not even Dave Beck gets off this time.”
“Bob Hope said he might swing by later.”
Teddy snorts. “Not a fan. Linda waiting up for you?”
“Yeah, I’ll get there eventually.”
Teddy grins. “You’ll hit the wall one of these days is what you’re gonna do.” He steps back, spins gracefully and starts off, flicking his Chesterfield ahead of him and squishing it under his heel without breaking stride.
“Who can sleep,” Roger half-shouts, revived and exuberant all over again, “when there’s only one hundred and fifty-one days left of this damn thing?”
Teddy raises a thumb up high without looking back.
Charging back inside, Roger notices six tables cluttered with dirty glasses and overflowing ashtrays. He doesn’t want to complain, so he grabs a tub and busses them himself, his swift efficiency clearing his head.
Afterward, he finds the governor off by himself, his eyes grazing on three young women at a nearby table, his smoldering cigarette confirming that he’s well into his second scotch. “Like to meet Count Basie?” Roger asks.
Big Ed’s eyes widen. “He’s here?”
“Follow me.”
Basie’s table is packed with new drunks, the lone holdover from his earlier entourage being the woman beside him, her luminous skin reflecting the light.
Before making introductions, Roger asks the governor what Teddy has been wanting him to ask for months now. “You hear anything to make you think the city or the fair could be a
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