"Slow down. I'm dumping this kid out."
"Bring him to the police."
"Slow down. Wretch."
"Hey mister what's wrong with you bring the kid to the police."
"I said slow down."
"It's my cab mister, dump the kid at the precinct."
"See this stick, you want it wrapped around your neck."
"Look mister, don't get hot under the collar, I'm slowing down,"
"O.K. kid, I'm kicking you out. But I'll be in this park every night rill I track you and the gang down and strangle each one of you, so enjoy life till then."
"Mister ain't you got no mercy."
"Just for myself sonny."
"This is a jungle, just what I told my sister who wants to be a nun, kind of people around like you don't understand human decency."
Smith's foot pushing. Boy leaping. Landing on a bridle path. Standing up to make a rude gesture at Smith as he waved goodbye. Clip clop. Strings of light and flashing beams across the trunks of trees. Along by a lawn and the vacant back of the museum.
Smith paying off the horsecab. No safe way to travel. Cross this road to that coffee shop. Full of fluffy haired debutante girls. Buy Her Majesty a box of cheeroots. And get into this phone booth. Little clicks, tiny beeps. A bell.
"Herbert rescue me."
"Why sure, Mr. Smith. Where are you."
"By the entrance to the Art Museum in the park. I've just had a rather unfortunate canter in a buggy through The Ramble, should be renamed."
"I'll be right there. Maybe take me nine minutes. I'll use the siren."
Her Majesty so white and diminutive. Chilled, wrapping her arms round herself. Bonniface cruelly said of our relationship. She was robbing the cradle as I was robbing the grave. Look up under the great portico of the museum. Pigeons huddling in there, cooing in the shadows. One couldn't help finding the little rough neck charming. And ideal business partner.
"George, can't we wait in the coffee shop instead of the cold."
"Evangiline. Your pomp and my circumstance, why don't we live together far from mayhem, up there in the contemporary sky."
"Are you proposing."
"Yes. Bonniface best man. Baron Mumchance usher.
The Excelsior a refuge."
"I'll tell you later."
"Yes Ma'am."
Siren up the avenue. Approaching. Smith smiling. Gives one the inner sense of running everything. Boss. Big wheel. Sitting back in safety. Glad to see you Herbert. With the vehicle. Seems only a minute ago I stood in front of Miss Martin's one man firing squad. Sure enough she shot me. My Prep School diploma reframed. Everything coming together. Old friends. Reception at Renown. Will bring a new letter from ShirPs lawyer. Tie him in one more legal knot. Help Her Majesty into the car. She's gone all silent. Maybe Mr. Park has tried something funny. Off duty.
"Stop at Merry Mansions, Herbert. I've got to change."
"Siren, Mr. Smith."
"Please."
Dreadnaught singing out its wailing tune. Pedestrians turn heads. Cars stop. Guilt spreads everywhere. Had I run Bonnif ace to the airport with it blaring he would have refused forever to leave that hilarious safety.
"George."
"Your Majesty, you think I'm overdoing it."
"You're a dreamer."
"You forgive me for peeing off your terrace."
Crosstown streets. Between darkened stone houses, brown, grey, the tops lit like skulls. Dreadnaught's tiny green light glowing on the black roof above the windscreen. Stands at the moment for go. And disturbing the peace. Police always salute. Think I'm the chief. Chief thinks I'm the commissioner. Commissioner thinks I'm the mayor. Mayor thinks I'm the governor. That's how God was made. Head of heaven.
"George, will you have a butterscotch. Will Herbert."
"Thanks ma'am."
"Herbert, butterscotch."
"No thanks, Mr. Smith."
We are so pleasant sucking the sweet. Twice escaped near certain death. Miss Tomson. That's why must ask you. A little message. Can't we lie quietly in each other's arms. My pole against your arse. Whispering against the back of your ear. No. Not The Goose Goes Inn. Or. Like to get you right there. No. Just Miss Tomson, Sally. Together. What can be more than that. Until I die. For if a whisper means anything. If it means you'll hear it. Believe it. Be like my first little girl friend when they twisted her arm. Made her tiny note drop to the floor. Followed by her tears. When they made fun of her. And I loved her ever since.
Guess now
Comes
All winter sky
Purple pink and sad
Crossed
By tree twigs
Waving mad.
23
"GEE Smithy, glad you came. Take your coat."
"Nearly didn't get. Got attacked by kids in the park."
"You're kidding."
"Sally Tomson. Evangiline Voninnocent."
"Hi."
"How do you do."
"Evangiline will vouch."
"That's O.K. Smithy, I believe, little kids are always trying to beat you up."
"Alas."
"Now come meet everybody. My fiance. There he is. Gee I'm glad you came. I was just thinking the second before the door slid open, where's the missing link. And you look so smart. You rent that."
"Sally, not so loud."
"Claude here he is. The one and only. I'll miss out the first eight initials. Claude H D N. And it's Van in, gee."
"Voninnocent, Sally. Evangiline."
"Gee, see. Well I know you're George Smith. Sorry Evangiline."
"Not at all."
"How do you do."
"Hello."
"Glad you could come Mr. Smith. Sally talks about you. Quite a lot."
"Gee this is tense, isn't it. Let's break up. Claude you take Evangiline and introduce her. I'll take this cookee."
"Sally you're drinking."
"Smithy, I am not. Hey I am. Here, you too, best bubbling wine. How do you like it. The place."
"Little breathtaking."
"It's something isn't it."
"Where does the staircase go."
"Up. Two more crazy floors on top of this. And there's one room you're going to like. I always think of you when I'm in it. Don't get any ideas I'm not paying my way. I mean at least part. This is my place. I want you to like it, I really mean it. Come on. Take a drink. You don't want to meet people."
"O.K."
"Isn't this nice, this staircase. Goes round. All the way up. I drop golf balls from the top. Like a crazy roulette. See which one of the stairs it bounces back up on. O Smithy."
"Sally."
"Smithy."
"Gee let's run up the stairs. Hold my hand. Bedroom's this floor. Another little library. And a crapper there too. What I always wanted. Books and a crapper side by side. Isn't that a crazy little table. There. I polish it every day. Put the fresh dog flower there. Still got yours. Pressed it in a book, how to succeed in business or something like that, so it would sort of help you along. Now. In here. How do you like it."
"Miss Tomson."
"Isn't it something."
"An altar."
"Yesh."
"I don't know quite what to say, Miss Tomson."
"I play organ music. Burn insense. And I sit in there. Have die delicatessen bring me around smoked salmon, potato salad, olives and maybe ham. On rye bread."
Smith standing in the gloam. On the last step down into this high ceilinged room. An altar set with tabernacle. Candles flickering. Reflecting on Smith's shimmering lapels. Miss Tomson's dress floating out from her hips and narrow waist. An emerald set in silver above her milky white breasts. Her long slightly helpless arms.
"Come down, Smithy. Here. You light one. I'll light one. Put them here together."
Smith lighting his candle. And lighting Miss Tom-son's. Pressing the white wax on the brass spike. Oriental carpet. Tapestries under the high window. Strange blue black glass on the sky. Miss Tomson's sedan chair of glistening hide. Where she sits listening and chewing. Two new flames. Goldminers naked holding hands in front of theirs. Ask Sally. Can we kneel. Clothingless. But all the people, her friends, a distant swell of voices.