They had no difficulty getting inside. Wandering across the lobby, they came on a large tiled space surrounded by tiers of benches. In one of the tiers a glum crowd of sixty or so well-dressed people sat listening to a man with a megaphone.
“We want you to cheer, gang,” the man with the mega phone was saying. “Please don’t groan or scream. If you want to scream, do it outside in the street.”
A boxing ring and its draped platform had been hauled to the wall opposite the occuped tier. People in bright casual clothes sauntered about and lounged on the empty benches. In the center of the space where the boxing ring should have been, there were two camera cranes with technicians standing beside them. At the far end of the place was a table with stacks of what appeared to be box lunches and, beside that, a partitioned area where there were lighted mirrors and barber chairs. Four or five trailers were lined up beside the doors to the lobby.
“Stand by, gang,” the man with the megaphone called.
Marge and Hicks walked closer to the crowd.
The man with the megaphone was watching a small sour-looking man who sat in a canvas chair behind him reading the Daily Variety. After a moment or so the small man looked up from his magazine, flung a hand toward the seated crowd, and returned his attention to the page.
“O.K., gang,” the man with the megaphone cried. “Let’s hear it!”
The crowd began to cheer for all they were worth. A camera boom descended on the third row and Hicks saw that Eddie Peace was sitting there. He was in an aisle seat beside two tough-looking men with vaguely familiar faces; Eddie and the two men beside him were the only people in the crowd who were not cheering. On the contrary, they glowered and sneered as though they found the spectacle of the camera, heartening as it was to everyone else, a loath some provocation.
Amid the delirious cheering there sounded several distinct demented cries. The man in the canvas chair threw his Daily Variety to the floor. He did not look at the crowd.
“All right,” the man with the megaphone called through his megaphone. He waved the cheering down.
“You bastards who are screaming, please stop! There will be no more screaming!” A little flurry of giggles ran through the crowd.
“Is he there?” Marge asked.
“Yeah,” Hicks said, “he’s there.”
When the cheering rose again, Eddie Peace and his companions once more registered their anger and disappointment. One of them turned to Eddie and whispered something in his ear. Eddie nodded in a purposeful and sinister fashion, stood up and made his way up the aisle, past the transported multitude. The camera boom tracked him. He had not gone very far when the screaming began again.
“Shit sake,” the man with the megaphone cried. He turned his back on the crowd and conferred with the second man.
“All right,” he announced. “Is there a union representative present?”
The crowd stopped cheering. Eddie Peace turned around and shook his head in good-humored frustration.
“We will take disciplinary action against you screamers. We’ll take this up with the union.”
After some further conversation, he raised his mega phone to announce a break. Hicks walked over to where Eddie Peace was sitting and waved. Eddie’s bland eyes turned on him.
“Whadda ya say?” He was wearing a blue blazer and a white polo shirt. He stood up smiling faintly, glanced quickly at the rows of seated extras above him and advanced warily His hand slid under Hicks’ arm.
“Whaddaya need?” he asked.
Eddie all the way. Marge came up to look at him.
“We thought we’d give you a buzz,” Hicks said. “We fell into something.”
Eddie laughed as though Hicks had told him a joke.
“Oh, yeah?”
“This is Marge,” Hicks said. “I was telling her about Malibu. About all those wild times out there. We thought we might do something like that again.”
Eddie looked around again and fixed them with a smile of such singular radiance that he seemed to have obliterated any sensations which might distract him from their welcome presence. Hicks realized that Eddie did not recognize him.
“Lois said you’d be down here. I thought we could arrange a meet.”
Eddie did not appear to have heard.
“How you been?” He kept right on smiling. “What you been doing?”
“We been traveling, Eddie. We wanted to say hello.”
“Hello,” Eddie said to Marge. “You stoned, maybe?”
Marge stepped back in surprise. He was looking at them in turn with his bright smile. Each examination was a fraction shorter than the last.
“Ray,” he said suddenly, “you fucker. How come I didn’t know you?”
“It’s been a while. And I guess you’re busy.”
“I go to Quasi’s now. You know Quasi’s? I’ll see you there.”
“That’s great, Eddie.”
When they turned toward the door Eddie pursued them.
He put a hand around Marge’s shoulder and eased between them.
“Excuse the vulgarity,” he said, “you want a blow job?”
Hicks smiled. “I don’t want to take any favors.”
Eddie looked insulted. He inclined his head toward the trailers. “There’s a little Heinie for you. Vos ist lost?” He rounded his lips. “Cute.”
Hicks shook his head goodhumoredly.
“Better not.”
“You dirty rat,” Eddie said — and scurried back toward the stands.
Marge and Hicks watched him go.
“He’s a regular lonely hearts club,” Hicks said. “He loves connecting.”
They stayed to watch the extras cheer for a while. There was more screaming and more recriminating from the man with the megaphone. Presently a man in a tennis sweater came and stood beside them; he was carrying a pair of scissors in each hand.
“What kind of a fight crowd is that?” he asked them.
As they walked back to the car, Marge asked Hicks what Quasi’s was.
“Quasi’s is where we hang now. I guess it’s a bar.”
On the drive back to Hollywood, Marge remarked that Eddie Peace was an extraordinary fellow.
“You have something in common,” Hicks told her. “You want to guess what it is?”
“I don’t know. We’re both friendly. And we can’t do enough for you.”
“You both do dilaudid. He does more than you.”
“I better lay off, then. I wouldn’t want to get like Eddie.”
“Give it a shot.”
“What is Eddie’s scene? Is he an actor?”
“Not exactly. He’s just around. All the warped shit that goes down — he’s around it. He does favors. He’s not stupid. But he’s funny.”
“Are people scared of him?”
“Some people are very scared of him.”
“Are we scared of him?”
“We don’t know the meaning of scared,” Hicks said.
They ate lunch in Schwab’s, and Hicks bought a pair of sunglasses for fifteen dollars. It was Converse’s money.
The Strip was not as pleasant an experience as it had been in the early morning; the dew had dried on the potted shrubs, and everyone was settling into the day. Marge and Hicks wandered along. Whenever they encountered someone who looked as though he might know what Quasi’s was, they inquired after it. As it turned out, quite a number of people knew and it was not difficult to obtain directions.
In Quasi’s there were lighted alcoves with distorting mirrors and water sculpture with phosphorescent water. It was very dark and it seemed to be crowded — though they could make out little more than phantom shapes against the tinted lights. Each shape was encircled with a gray aura that was an after image of the sunlight outside. Uncle John’s Band was on the box and there was a lot of laughing.