“He’s had some financial setbacks,” Eliot went on. “He’s got this federal grand jury breathing down his neck, and the income-tax boys are after him again. He’s been in and out of the hospital for his ulcers and back pain. It’s closing in on him.”
“And this, you think, might lead to him condoning what happened to Estelle Carey today?”
“Possibly. That money she supposedly had hidden away for Dean was something Nitti might well have instructed his killers to find out the whereabouts of, by whatever means necessary, before finishing the job. A million bucks, Nate! Or possibly even two. Sure it’s possible.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t want to think so.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not stupid. But I think you, well… Nate, you look up to the guy, somehow. Admire him.”
“Bullshit.”
“You just can’t remember when this wasn’t his town. You just can’t accept change.”
“I didn’t know I had a choice. I tried to buy a pair of shoes, late this afternoon, they told me I needed a goddamn ration ticket. I told ’em I was at Guadalcanal fighting to preserve their way of life, and they suggested I go back there and ask for a ration book.”
He laughed. “I bet you took that well.”
“Funny thing is, I did. I started out bad, and was shouting, the guy was shouting back, and then I just sort of faded away. Wandered back out on the street.”
“Well, you’d just come back from that ghastly scene at the Carey apartment…”
“That was part of it. But I can’t handle this place.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What place?”
“This place. The real world. You know, I thought when I got back here it would be the same.”
“And it changed on you.”
“Not really, not in any important way. That’s the trouble. I came back, and it was the same trivial everyday life waiting for me, my job, credit checks and insurance adjusting and divorce surveillance, and is that what we’re the fuck fighting for?”
“Maybe. Maybe it’s enough.”
“And then there’s the killing. The Outfit or whoever, they’re still at it, I mean here we are fighting for democracy over there and over here people are pouring whiskey on people and setting them on fire, and cutting them up and…”
He grabbed my arm, squeezed. Apparently it had been shaking, my arm.
“Nate.”
“I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Here,” he said. He handed me a handkerchief.
Apparently I’d been crying. I wiped my face with it.
“Goddamnit, I’m sorry, Eliot.”
Then the head waiter was standing next to me, and I figured I was finally getting thrown out of the joint.
I was wrong.
“Miss Rand would like to see you backstage, sir,” he said. Politely. Only the faintest trace of distaste.
I asked him how to get there and he pointed to a door to the right of where the orchestra was playing.
“Eliot, come with me,” I said.
“No. This should be a private reunion.”
“I’m not up to it. You come along.”
Reluctantly, he rose, and we moved along the edge of the crowded dance floor where couples, old men and young women mostly, were clutching each other to “Be Careful, It’s My Heart.” We went up some stairs and in a hallway we found a door with a gold star; not a service flag, either. I knocked.
She opened the door and smiled at me, looking just a little older, but not much; her blue eyes, the bluest light blue eyes in the world, stood out startlingly, partly due to the long theatrical lashes, partly due to God. She had on a silk robe, not unlike Estelle’s but blue, yawning open a little to reveal creamy talcumed breasts; no doubt she was naked underneath it, like Estelle, albeit in better condition.
Then she saw Eliot, and her eyes just barely revealed her disappointment that I wasn’t alone, but her smile stayed, and stayed sincere, and she was shaking Eliot’s hand without my having introduced her, saying, “Eliot Ness-this is a real treat. I knew you and Nate were friends, but somehow it never seemed real to me till this very moment.”
She cinched the belt ’round her robe tighter, and gestured for us to step in. It was a small, neat dressing room with a large lightbulb-framed makeup mirror, a few chairs and a hinged dressing screen.
“Where do you keep your feathers?” Eliot asked, with a cute wry little smile. He always did well with the ladies, by the way. Except in marriage.
“That’s the prop man’s department,” she said, with her own cute little wry smile. “Union rules, you know.”
“Nate knows all about the Stagehands Union.”
Sally didn’t get the joke. “Really?” she said, looking at me, a bit confused.
“Inside joke,” I said. “You were wonderful tonight.”
“Thank you,” she said. Her smile tried to stay polite but I could sense the ice forming. “You might’ve told a girl you were coming.”
I shrugged. “Last minute. Eliot showed up and invited me out for supper…”
“And,” Eliot said, saving me, “I’d noticed you were appearing in town, and knew you two were old pals, so I hauled him down here. He, uh…he only got back just this morning.”
She stood near me, looked at me carefully. Touched my face. “I can see that. You dear. You poor, poor dear.”
There was no sarcasm in it.
I swallowed. “Please, Sally. I…please.”
She turned to Eliot and said, “Could we have a moment alone, please? I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Ness.”