got as Jo-Ann Corkish lit one up yesterday in the feelies. But it wasn’t bad. “Anything else?”
“Anything what?”
“That you haven’t told me.”
“You’ve practiced the signature?”
“Uh-huh. A whole hour this morning.”
“You’ve read the script?”
“You weren’t shitting me when you said it was good. As long as you don’t expect me to say too much about it.”
“Don’t worry. The whole contract’s already fixed. All you need do is sign…” He watched her teeth go over her bottom lip. The lipstick was burgundy as well. “Then, when we’re finished I thought we could maybe go for a meal. I’ve booked a table at Chateau Bansar.”
“Thanks.” He guessed he should probably be impressed, and grateful. “And then that’s it? We’re done? No call-backs or encores?”
“Exactly. You haven’t kept anything? The clothes, the script, Dan’s signatures?”
“I’m either wearing it, or it’s in this suitcase.”
She smiled. “You know, you really do look like Dan. Driving like this, it’s weird. It feels like I’m sitting right by him.”
“How is he, anyway?”
“He’s getting better.”
“When did you last see him?“
“A couple of days back.” The Delahaye’s speed fell a few mph as her foot dropped off the gas. “Seeing as you ask.”
“Does he know anything about what’s happening today?”
“Imagine what it would do to someone in his frail state if I started trying to tell him that I’ve hired this guy to impersonate him.”
“He’ll have to know eventually.”
“I guess he will. Meantime, you’re Daniel Lamotte. Do you really think you can do it, Mr Gable?”
“Sure. But maybe we should cut the Mr Gable act. Seeing as we’ve got no chance for a dress rehearsal.”
“Yes.” She touched at her coiffure, which the wind was doing nothing to disturb. “You’re right.”
“Dan?” “Yeah. Dan.”
“And you’re just April? Not bunnikins or sweet-tits or flot-not?”
“You have an odd sense of humor, Mis…” She smiled and tossed her cigarette into the slipstream. “… Dan .”
They were slowed to a halt by a parade beside the twin radio masts of the Angelus Temple. A brass band of American Legionaries led a procession of capped and uniformed types, the largest and most prominent of whom were wearing Liberty League sashes in blue and red. All ages. All sizes. Women and men. All of them white. The cops were smiling, too, as they held everyone back. He saw that they were also wearing Liberty League badges on their lapels. A few years ago, any display of political allegiance by a city employee would have been illegal, but Herbert Kisberg’s term as governor had put paid to all that.
April Lamotte traced the leather rim of the steering wheel and glanced at her watch as the parade dragged on. Some of the other enforced spectators were getting restless, but the cops were grinning in that way which suggested that you’d better grin along. After all, this was California. You just had to smile.
Clark smiled, too, in a neutral way he’d once practiced for the role of this guy—schmuck, really—he’d played in a fleapit off Broadway, who’d thought the entire world was a swell place until some Prohibition gangsters kidnapped him. Even then, he couldn’t stop smiling, and thinking the world was essentially a kind and decent place. That was why the gangsters had finally shot him, and by the final scene you ended up feeling that it was nothing more than the stupid bastard deserved.
It was all kids now. Scout Cubs. Camp Fire Youths. Pocahontases and Hiawathas. Pioneers. Many of them were carrying banners. NEUTRAL AMERICA. NO FDR THIRD TERM. GIVE IT UP WINSTON. END THE DRAFT. SUPPORT NEW EUROPE. LIBERTY LEAGUERS AGAINST WAR.
He watched it all trail by.
TEN
T HE OFFICES OF YORK AND BUNCE were in a smart new concrete and glass mid-rise a block down on Main from City Hall. April Lamotte was able to park almost directly out front.
“Hey,
“Anything what?”
“That you haven’t told me.”
“You’ve practiced the signature?”
“Uh-huh. A whole hour this morning.”
“You’ve read the script?”
“You weren’t shitting me when you said it was good. As long as you don’t expect me to say too much about it.”
“Don’t worry. The whole contract’s already fixed. All you need do is sign…” He watched her teeth go over her bottom lip. The lipstick was burgundy as well. “Then, when we’re finished I thought we could maybe go for a meal. I’ve booked a table at Chateau Bansar.”
“Thanks.” He guessed he should probably be impressed, and grateful. “And then that’s it? We’re done? No call-backs or encores?”
“Exactly. You haven’t kept anything? The clothes, the script, Dan’s signatures?”
“I’m either wearing it, or it’s in this suitcase.”
She smiled. “You know, you really do look like Dan. Driving like this, it’s weird. It feels like I’m sitting right by him.”
“How is he, anyway?”
“He’s getting better.”
“When did you last see him?“
“A couple of days back.” The Delahaye’s speed fell a few mph as her foot dropped off the gas. “Seeing as you ask.”
“Does he know anything about what’s happening today?”
“Imagine what it would do to someone in his frail state if I started trying to tell him that I’ve hired this guy to impersonate him.”
“He’ll have to know eventually.”
“I guess he will. Meantime, you’re Daniel Lamotte. Do you really think you can do it, Mr Gable?”
“Sure. But maybe we should cut the Mr Gable act. Seeing as we’ve got no chance for a dress rehearsal.”
“Yes.” She touched at her coiffure, which the wind was doing nothing to disturb. “You’re right.”
“Dan?” “Yeah. Dan.”
“And you’re just April? Not bunnikins or sweet-tits or flot-not?”
“You have an odd sense of humor, Mis…” She smiled and tossed her cigarette into the slipstream. “… Dan .”
They were slowed to a halt by a parade beside the twin radio masts of the Angelus Temple. A brass band of American Legionaries led a procession of capped and uniformed types, the largest and most prominent of whom were wearing Liberty League sashes in blue and red. All ages. All sizes. Women and men. All of them white. The cops were smiling, too, as they held everyone back. He saw that they were also wearing Liberty League badges on their lapels. A few years ago, any display of political allegiance by a city employee would have been illegal, but Herbert Kisberg’s term as governor had put paid to all that.
April Lamotte traced the leather rim of the steering wheel and glanced at her watch as the parade dragged on. Some of the other enforced spectators were getting restless, but the cops were grinning in that way which suggested that you’d better grin along. After all, this was California. You just had to smile.
Clark smiled, too, in a neutral way he’d once practiced for the role of this guy—schmuck, really—he’d played in a fleapit off Broadway, who’d thought the entire world was a swell place until some Prohibition gangsters kidnapped him. Even then, he couldn’t stop smiling, and thinking the world was essentially a kind and decent place. That was why the gangsters had finally shot him, and by the final scene you ended up feeling that it was nothing more than the stupid bastard deserved.
It was all kids now. Scout Cubs. Camp Fire Youths. Pocahontases and Hiawathas. Pioneers. Many of them were carrying banners. NEUTRAL AMERICA. NO FDR THIRD TERM. GIVE IT UP WINSTON. END THE DRAFT. SUPPORT NEW EUROPE. LIBERTY LEAGUERS AGAINST WAR.
He watched it all trail by.
TEN
T HE OFFICES OF YORK AND BUNCE were in a smart new concrete and glass mid-rise a block down on Main from City Hall. April Lamotte was able to park almost directly out front.
“Hey,
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