Cover-Up Story (6 page)

Then the Cousins tumbled onstage, rowdy and rollicking, breaking the mood, but not quite setting up a mood of their own to replace it. Their routine leaned heavily on the ‘We-uns is jes' plain folks' routine – in fact, they said it several times. The ‘Jes' Plain Folks' attitude is the American equivalent of the British ‘Working Class and Proud of it'. In both cases, it means that they expect you to despise them, so they're going to take the offensive by despising you first. It comes off better on the stage than face-to-face.

Things improved when the Cousins began to sing. Their voices were raucous, but adequate. They did better on instrumentals, but then, their orchestrations were very good. I wondered how much it had cost Sam and Nate.

Then it was Lou-Ann's turn. The way she stumbled across the stage and took her first pratfall
did
get a laugh. There was the sheet-lightning effect of flashbulbs off in the wings again – at least it would keep Maw Cooney happy, even if The Client went wild.

Helped too vigorously to her feet by Cousin Zeke, she fell off into the wings, then bounced back for another pratfall. The laughs kept coming, but she worked too hard for them, they cost too much. And she violated the cardinal rule of comedy : Never cross your eyes more than three times in any one minute.

The dialogue took a turn for the worse.

‘I know a sad song, and a sad story to go with it. A sad,
true
story,' Lou-Ann said. ‘Y'all wanna hear it, don't you?'

There was a frozen silence, then an embarrassed sprinkling of applause from the audience at thus being appealed to directly. Perhaps we're growing into a nation of voyeurs, thanks to films and television, but audiences prefer to think that they're invisible from the stage. It jars them to find that those strange characters acting out a charade for their amusement can actually see them, too. Nothing is more inconvenient than a one-way street when you find traffic coming the other way.

‘There now, I jes' knew you were all my friends!' She spoiled the effect by turning and sticking her tongue out at the Cousins.

‘Well, now, this here is a song written by a young fella back near the turn of the century. Him and his gal had been apart for a long while, but he was happy now because she was on a train comin' to marry him. An' while he was waitin' for the train to bring her to him, he wrote this song for her. But he didn't know that she was never goin' to hear it, 'cause even while he was writing it, the train had crashed and his sweetheart lay dying in the wreckage . . .'

It was bathos, but the house had hushed. Lou-Ann threw back her head and began to sing in a clear, sweet voice.

In the background, Cousin Homer took the bandana from Uncle No'ccount's pocket, shook the teeth out of it and handed them back to Uncle No'ccount, and caricatured wiping his eyes on the bandana. The other Cousins began making those gestures toward Lou-Ann.

There was a nasty, low-throated rumble from the audience. The Cousins looked startled.

Then the spotlight blacked out for a moment, returning as a soft baby blue spot centred on Lou-Ann's head and shoulders. You were only vaguely aware of the Cousins in the background, going through their accustomed gestures of derision.

But the laughs had stopped coming, and it unnerved her. She kept singing, but her eyes shifted restlessly. It didn't matter to her that the audience had been laughing
at
her and not with her. What mattered to her was the laughter, and that was gone. She wilted without it. Luckily, that didn't do the song any harm. Without knowing it, she had accomplished something I'd be willing to bet she had never done before. She had the audience in the palm of her hand as she finished the number.

She looked bewildered as the full spotlight came back to her and the applause broke loose. She bobbed a curtsy, swiftly, awkwardly, still glancing around like a wild, frightened thing. Then she dashed offstage.

The amplifiers went on, the beat loud, solid, hypnotic, for Black Bart's entrance.

‘Homesteader, Homesteader,

‘Ridin' alone ...'

His face was black and thunderous as he strode on. She had killed his entrance, and he knew it. There could be only one sad and lonely principal in the act. She had stolen the mood and part of it had exited with her.

Once again, there'd be hell to pay when the public performance was over. No wonder she had wanted to stick to comedy.

BACKSTAGE, after the house had emptied, the atmosphere was about as I had expected. I pasted a bright smile on my lips, prepared to congratulate and then sidestep any members of the Troupe I was unfortunate enough to trip over. I simply wanted to collect Penny and Gerry before they got caught in the crossfire and, incidentally, exchange a few words with Sam, if possible. By this time, I wasn't sure whether I really had anything to say to Sam or not. It was the challenge of the whole thing which had roused my sporting blood.

I might have known Penny and Gerry wouldn't have been where I left them. Gerry had a fine nose for trouble. Where else would he be, then, but in the star dressing-room, watching the fray with interest – and with Penny? I was surprised, however, to find Sam there, too. I had thought he possessed a finer sense of self-preservation.

Lou-Ann was on the carpet – almost literally. She was crouched beside Black Bart's chair. Another couple of inches and she would have been kneeling.

‘Bart,' she pleaded, ‘honest, Bart. I didn't tell them to. I didn't know what was going to happen until they did it. Bart – you ain't mad at
me?
'

Why should she be any different? It was easy to see that Black Bart was mad at everybody. He had a fine line in sulks, and this was the most impressive I had yet seen. The black scowl on his face, the rigid line of his lips, the way his arms were tightly folded across his chest – they were all effective, if reminiscent. He was every outlaw in every bad Western you had ever seen, brooding until sundown, when he was going to stalk down that empty dirt road and kill himself a lawman. It was just as well that Black Bart had no gun, and that the nearest Sheriff was 3,000 miles away.

‘Please, Bart,' Lou-Ann said. ‘Tell me you ain't mad at me.'

Black Bart looked over her head impassively. I had a momentary hope that he was never going to speak again.

‘If you want to take it out on anybody, Bart –' Sam, too, was tight-lipped and white-faced – ‘take it out on me. I gave the order for the big spot to be killed and the baby blue to be used.' I'd never realized Sam had this insane death-wish. He'd never shown any signs of suicidal tendencies when I'd known him in the States. ‘Furthermore, it's going to stay that way from now on. It's right for the act.'

That brought Black Bart to his feet, quivering with fury. Sam went whiter than white, but stood his ground.

‘What did you say?' Bart demanded dangerously.

‘You heard me.' Sam's voice was almost steady. ‘I told you before that that number shouldn't be played for laughs. Now I've proved it. From here on in, she warbles it straight. And the devil with the laughs.'

‘Maybe you still ain't got the picture,' Black Bart said softly, still dangerously. ‘She's
here
for laughs. Look at her – you think any man's gonna look at her and
not
laugh?'

Lou-Ann rose, with terrible eagerness. ‘I
told
him, Bart. I said I didn't want to do anything that wasn't funny.'

‘You want the song to stay in –' Bart ignored her, still glaring at Sam – ‘then
I'll
sing it. It goes better with my image, anyhow.'

‘I don't know.' Maw Cooney seemed to be tired of living, too. She came forward slowly to face Bart. ‘The audience liked it. 'Course, they always go crazy for Lou-Ann, but this was something special. They –' she lowered her voice into an awed, hushed tone – ‘they really
loved
her. Maybe we
ought
to keep it in like that.'

There was a slight scrabbling noise, like rats abandoning ship, as the Cousins edged back against the wall. Bart took it quite mildly, for him. ‘You think so, huh? Who told you you could think?
I
built this act, what
I
say goes. Just remember – none of you would be nothing, if it wasn't for me.'

‘I don't know about that.' Maw Cooney's jaw set in a stubborn line. ‘
You
just remember a few things, yourself. Lou-Ann was pretty famous before you ever came on the scene. So you needn't think you're the big shot who's done it all. I tell you, you wouldn't be where you are today if you'd had to play the Nashville Circuit all by your lonesome. An' that ain't all –'

‘Maw, Maw.' Lou-Ann was tugging at her sleeve anxiously. Perhaps she really loved the old bat – the silver cord was a wonderful thing. At any rate, she seemed concerned to stop Maw Cooney's tirade before Black Bart reached out those big hands that were twitching at his side and knotted them around Maw Cooney's neck. ‘Let it go, Maw. Just forget it.'

‘I ain't gonna forget it.' But Maw Cooney let herself be pulled back a couple of steps. ‘You're too easy-going, my girl, that's your trouble. I don't know where you'd be, if you didn't have me to look out for your interests.'

‘Better off.' But I was the only one to hear Sam's low murmur. Black Bart, head turning restlessly from side to side, had spotted a new vent for his anger. Uncle No'ccount and Crystal were trying to slip out of the door before he got around to raging at the rest of them. They didn't quite make it.

‘You come back here,' he yelled. ‘Where in hell do you think you're sneaking off to?'

‘Nowhere, Bart.' Crystal halted in the doorway, hovering there. ‘Just thought we'd like a little breath of fresh air, that's all.'

‘There's plenty of air right here. Get back and sit down.' He glared at her while she came back into the room. Nasty grins broke out like a rash across the faces of the Cousins.

Uncle No'ccount still hovered in the doorway. ‘I oughta go get some work done,' he said. ‘You don't want
me,
do you, Bart?'

‘Hell, I don't
want
none of you,' Bart snarled. ‘But I'm stuck with you.' He swung back suddenly and caught up his big sombrero from the back of the chair, then grabbed Crystal by the wrist and thrust her towards the door.

‘Okay,' he said, ‘I'll give you some fresh air. Come on, we'll walk back to the hotel.'

There seemed to be a lot more air for the rest of us, and a lot fresher, too, once Bart had left the room. The Cousins gave it a count of ten, then slithered out of the door themselves. That improved the atmosphere, too.

Sam crossed over to Lou-Ann and Maw Cooney, speaking to them in a rapid undertone I could not hear. Not that I was interested.

By that time, I had met Gerry's accusing eye. ‘You should have told me,' he said reproachfully. ‘You've let me go on living in a fool's paradise, when I should have been crawling on my hands and knees to the hyphenated-hag and trying to get back into her good graces – at least long enough to get us paid.'

‘I don't know,' Penny said thoughtfully. ‘He was super out on the stage, wasn't he? Maybe he's just tired after the performance. I'll bet he's awfully high-strung.'

‘Child, child.' Gerry patted her head gently. ‘Keep your youthful illusions, but don't let them run away with you. If ever I saw a prize candidate to join the Great Unmentionables at an early date –'

‘Did you get some good shots?' It was an unnecessary question, I just threw it in to cheer him up.

‘I got some magnificent shots. Far better than any of them deserve.' He glanced across the room thoughtfully. ‘You know, that girl has a wonderful bone structure. Why doesn't she try to look like a member of the human race?'

I knew what he meant. None of Gerry's birds would have been caught dead in last year's Quant, last season's restaurant, or last month's hairstyle. Lou-Ann, on the other hand, would have died before abandoning her ‘comedy costume'. Somewhere, there must be a happy medium.

‘...I don't care.' Maw Cooney's voice rose abruptly. ‘He ain't been treating my Lou-Ann right for a long time now. I'm gonna go after him and give him a real good piece of my mind! '

‘Maw! –' Lou-Ann caught at her elbow as she tried to leave. ‘Just cool off, Maw. It's all right, honest –'

‘There ain't nothing right about it! He should remember your position. He thinks he's the Great I-Am, and nobody else counts for nothing. Well, it's high time he learned different, and I'm gonna –'

‘Okay, okay, but not just now, huh? We need you here.' Sam glanced over at me, signalling desperately. I was interested to find that he
could
remember I existed – when he needed me. ‘Doug, bring the photographer over here, will you, please? We want to get some good shots of Lou-Ann, while we've got a clear field.'

Nothing else could have brought Maw Cooney to heel so quickly. ‘Oh, well now, that's a real good idea,' she said, all the fire dying away. ‘It sure is nice to know we've got a Road Manager who knows his onions.'

Sam winced. ‘Thanks.' He turned to Lou-Ann briskly. ‘Now, we'll just get rid of that –' He yanked off the appalling hat.

‘No, give that back!' Lou-Ann clutched for it.

‘Take it easy. We just want a couple of straight shots,' Sam held the hat out of reach. ‘Be a good girl and get into your street clothes, will you?'

He should have known better. In the short time I had had to observe her, even I had realized that the one thing calculated to throw her into a blind panic was any suggestion that she come out from behind the mask of comedy and look or act like a normal human being.