'Don't worry about the check,' Perdita said breezily.
'Colonel Manila will pay.'
'Absolutely not,' I said indignantly. 'I invited you. He doesn't have to pay for our dinner.'
'Don't be silly,' she said. 'He likes to buy me things. I told you — he's loaded. Light my cigarette.'
Talking to her was no problem; it was only necessary to listen. She babbled through our second round of drinks, through her gargantuan meal and a bottle of Chianti. I tried, several times, to bring the conversation around to the Kipper household, saying such things as: 'I imagine this is better food than Mrs Neckin's.' But Perdita picked up on none of these leads; her monologue would not be interrupted. I gave up and asked for a check, but the waitress assured me, 'It's been taken care of.'
'I told you,' Perdita said, laughing. 'The Colonel's always doing things like that for me. He thinks it buys him something.'
'And does it?' I asked her.
'Sure,' she said cheerfully. 'What do you think? Let's go back to the bar.'
This was not really necessary as she was quite drunk already. We rejoined the Colonel, and the idea of going to Hoboken for clams was raised. I said I wouldn't. Two young men came and whispered in Perdita's ear and she told them to bug off. They disappeared quickly. The noise was incredible.
Colonel Clyde Manila was seated, lopsided, on Perdita's barstool. The moment he saw us, he slid off and bowed to Perdita.
'Keeping it warm f'you, dear lady,' he said, in a strangled voice.
'Colonel,' I shouted, 'I want to thank you for your kindness. The dinner was excellent.'
Those pale little eyes seemed to have become glassy.
'Good show,' he said.
'May I buy you a drink, sir?' I asked.
'Good show,' he said.
'Oh, don't be such a pooper, Josh,' Perdita said. 'Come dance with me.'
She clasped me in her arms, closed her eyes, began to shuffle me about. 'I just love Viennese waltzes,' Perdita Schug said dreamily.
'I think that's "Beautiful O h i o, " ' I said.
'Nasty brutes,' Colonel Manila said. He was at my shoulder, staggering after us around the minuscule dance floor. 'They smell, y'know. Did you ever sheep a shear?' I had suspected that he was Australian.
'The last time I saw Paris,' Perdita crooned in my ear.
'Let's you and me make yum-yum.'
'Perdita,' I said, 'I really — '
'Can we go to your place?' she whispered.
'Oh no. No, no, no. Really. I'm afraid that wouldn't — '
'Where is your place?'
'Miles from here. Way downtown. West side.'
'Where is your place?' she said. 'Yum-yum.'
'Way downtown,' I started again.
'Col!' she screamed. 'We're going.'
'Good show,' he said.
We came out of Mother Tucker's and turned our backs to a vindictive wind that stung with driven snow. Manila motioned and we went plodding after him around the corner on to 69th Street. He halted at a car and began to fumble in his coat pockets for his keys. We all piled into the front, Perdita sitting in the middle.
'A joint,' the Colonel said.
'Oh no, sir,' I said. 'I thought it was a very pleasant restaurant.'
Perdita, already fishing in her purse, got out a fat, hand-rolled cigarette, both ends twisted.
She lighted it, took a deep drag, and held it out to the Col. He took a tremendous drag and half the cigarette seemed to disappear in a shower of sparks.
'Now then,' the Colonel said. He handed the joint back to Perdita, then busied himself with switches and buttons.
In a few moments he had the headlights on, engine purring, the heater going. The snow on the windows began to melt away.
'Whisky,' the Colonel said, like a drillmaster rapping out commands.
Perdita twisted around, got on to her knee on the front seat, and leaned far over into the rear compartment. Her rump jutted into the air. Colonel Manila slapped it lightly.
'There's a gel,' he said affectionately.
She flopped back to her original position with a full decanter and three tumblers, all in cut crystal. She poured us all drinks, big drinks, then set the decanter on the floor between her feet. I knew we would be stopped. I knew the police would arrest us. I could imagine the charges.
Perhaps, I thought hopefully, I might get off with three years because of my youthful appearance and exemplary record.
Nothing of the sort happened. The Colonel drove expertly. Even after he turned on the radio to a rock-and-roll station and kept banging the steering wheel with one palm in time to the music, still he smoked, drank, stopped for traffic lights, negotiated turns skilfully, and pulled up right in front of my door, scrunching the limousine into a snowbank. I laughed shrilly.
'Well, this has certainly been a memorable evening,' I said, listening to the quaver in my voice. 'I do want to thank — '
'Out,' Perdita Schug growled, nudging me. 'Let's go.'
I stumbled out hastily into the snow. She came scrambling after me. I looked back in at Colonel Clyde Manila.
He waggled fingers at me. I waggled back. Perdita slammed the car door, then took my arm in a firm, proprietary grip.
'Up we go,' she said gaily.
It was then around midnight. I think. Or it could have been ten. Or it might have been two. Whatever it was, I hoped Mrs Hermione Hufnagel, Cleo, Captain Bramwell Shank, Adolph Finkel, and Madame Zora Kadinsky were all behind locked doors and sleeping innocently in their warm beds.
'Shh,' I said to Perdita Schug, leading her upstairs. I giggled nervously.
'What's with this shh shit?' she demanded.
I got her inside my apartment. She was moving now with deliberate and exaggerated caution.
I switched on the overhead light. I draped our coats and hats over a chairback. She looked around the living room.
I awaited her reaction. There was none. She flopped into my armchair.
'Come sit on my lap,' she said with a vulpine grin.
I began to stammer, but she grabbed my wrist, drew me to her with surprising strength, and plunked me down on to her soft thighs.
She kissed me. My toes curled. Inside shoes and the rubbers I had neglected to remove.
'Mmm,' she said. 'That's better. Much better.'
She wriggled around, pulled me tighter on to her lap.
She had a muscled arm around my neck. She pressed our cheeks together. 'The last time I saw Paris,' she sang.
'Perdita,' I said, giving it one last try, 'I can't understand how you can endure doing the work you do. I mean, you've got so much personality and, uh, talent and experience. Why do you stay on as a maid for Tippi Kipper?'
'It's a breeze,' she said promptly. 'The pay is good. And I get meals and my own apartment. My own telephone.
What should I be doing — selling gloves in Macy's?'
'But still, it must be boring.'
'Sometimes yes,' she said. 'Sometimes no. Like any other job.'
'Is Mrs Kipper, ah, you know, understanding?'
'Oh sure,' she said, laughing. 'I get away with murder.
That Chester Heavens would like to bounce my ass right out of there, and Mrs Neckin called me "the spawn of the devil." They'd both like me out of there, but Tippi will never can me. Never.'
'Why not?'
'Give us another kissy,' she said.
I gave her another kissy.
'You're learning,' she said. 'Listen, Tippi plays around as much as I do. And she knows I know it.'
'Plays around now or before? I mean, when her husband was alive?'
'Oh shit, Josh, she's always played around. As long as I've been there. That'll be four years come April.'
226
'How do you know?'
'How do I know? Oh, you poor, sweet, innocent lamb.
You think I don't smell the grass on her and see her underwear and notice her hair is done a different way when she comes home from what she said was a bridge party?