Death in the Fifth Position (21 page)

When he had finished telling me what it was like at the end of a ballet when the applause was coming up out of the darkened house (“like waves”), our waiter eased by with the drinks as I watched, fascinated. Most queens walk in a rather trotting manner with necks and shoulders rigid, like women, and the lower anatomy swiveling a bit; not our waiter, though … he was like Theda Bara moving in for a couple of million at the box office, in the days when a dollar was a dollar.

“Here’s your poison,” he said in that slow Mae Western manner of his.

“That’s a boy,” said Louis and he swallowed a shot of gin which he immediately chased with a mouthful of water. He grimaced. “Lighter fluid,” he said.

“What did you expect, lover, ambrosia?” Obviously a literary belle, our waiter … and what a joy it was to hear her say “ambrosia”!

“Just a little old-fashioned gin.”

“You want some more?”

“The real stuff.”

The belle looked at him beneath sleepy lids which even in the dim light I could see had been heavily mascaraed. “Are you
that
dancer?”

“That’s me.” And Louis flashed the ivory smile.

“That’s what Mary said when you came in but I said, no, this one’s too old.”

One for the belle, I said to myself, as Louis’ smile vanished. “Get the gin,” he said, suddenly rough and surly.

“I didn’t mean any offense,” said the belle, with a smile of triumph; she ambled off swaying like some tall flower in a summer breeze.

“Bitch,” said Louis, in a bad temper. But then two admirers came over, college boy types, very young and drunk.

“Hey, you Louis Giraud aren’t you?” asked one of them, a crewcut number, short and stocky. The other was a gentle-looking blond.

“Yes,” said Louis, obviously taking no chances after his experience with the waiter.

“See, what did I say?” said the short one to the tall one.

“He’s kidding you,” said the blond.

“No, he’s not,” I said, just to be helpful; Louis was beginning to look very tough indeed.

“Giraud’s right calf is about half an inch thicker than his left,” said the blond.

I could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was a balletomane.

“Please show us,” said the short one. “I got a bet.…”

Louis, exhibitionist to the last, pulled up his trouser legs to reveal those massive legs, like blue marble in this light; sure enough one calf was bigger than the other. They both touched him very carefully, like children in a museum. “I win,” said the short one and he pulled the taller one away, with some difficulty now that Louis’ identity had been established.

“Nice boys,” said Louis, with his old good humor. “Like little pussycats, fuzzy and nice.”

“They don’t look much like pussycats to me,” I said austerely.

“Why don’t you come off it, Baby? Stop all this girl-business.”

“I can’t help it, Louis. I got a weak character.”

“I could teach you a lot,” said Louis with a speculative look; before he could start the first lesson, however, the belle returned with another shot of gin.

“Compliments of the management, Miss Pavlova,” said the belle insolently.

“Why don’t you go stuff …”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” said the belle, with a faraway Blanche Dubois smile.

But then the chief entertainer Molly Malloy came over, a man in his late thirties with small regular features; he was wearing a crimson evening gown and a blond wig like Jean Harlow.

“Hi, there, Louis, long time no see,” said Molly in a husky voice, not precisely female but on the other hand
not very male either. He sat down at our table, drawing all eyes toward us. I felt very self-conscious.

“How’re you doing, Molly? I’ve been tied up all season … haven’t been able to get out once.”

“That’s not what I hear. This your new chick?” asked Molly, giving me the eye.

“Yeah,” said Louis, beaming, “Pretty cute piece, huh?”

“Well you always get the best, dear. And I know why.” There was much vulgar laughter and I looked politely away, looked toward the bar where youths and old men of every description were furtively nudging one another, all engaged in the maneuvers of courtship. It was a very interesting thing to watch.

“You still doing the same act, Molly?”

“Haven’t changed it in ten years … my public wouldn’t let me … even if I could. Tell me, dear, about all that excitement you’ve been having uptown: all those dancers murdering each other. Who did it?”

“Damned if I know,” said Louis, and he changed the subject, the way he had with me all night whenever I tried to get the conversation around to the murders, tried to question Louis about one or two things which had to be cleared up before I could get the proof I needed. But Louis wasn’t talking. And I wasn’t giving up … not if I had to get him drunk, a hard job but, under the circumstances, a necessary one since I’d heard he talks a lot when he’s drunk and there’s truth in the grape, as the ancients used to say.

“Well, dear, it’s been a real sensation … let me tell you. And such publicity! If it doesn’t sell tickets my name isn’t Molly Malloy.” I couldn’t help but wonder whether
or not his name really was Molly Malloy. “Come here, Miss Priss,” said Molly sternly to our waiter who obeyed with the air of a royal princess dispensing favors, or maybe Saint Theresa scrubbing floors. “Another gin for Louis Giraud the dancer, another coke and a Tom Collins … understand?”

“You don’t have to act like I was deaf,” said the aggrieved, petulantly; another round was brought us and when Louis finished his third shot of gin he was definitely in a joyous mood … just next door to drunkenness and indiscretion. I bided my time.

Then Molly Malloy went into his act, to the delight of the initiates though it was pretty bewildering to me, full of references to people I never heard of, and imitations of celebrated actresses which weren’t remotely like the originals, or anything else for that matter. He finished the act with a torch song and, when that was over, disappeared through a door behind the stage to much applause. Beneath clouds of blue smoke the pianist continued to play; voices sounded louder and the mating at the bar grew more intense and indecorous.

During Molly’s last number, Louis had taken my hand in his and held it like a vise. After a while I stopped trying to pull away; it wouldn’t last forever I knew. That’s what I always tell myself in difficult situations, like the war … fortunately he soon got tired of kneading my palm and let it drop. I sat on my hands for the next half hour.

“Swell place,” said Louis, after Molly left the stage. “Swell,” I said.

“I came here on my first night in New York … maybe
ten years ago. I was just a kid from Europe … didn’t know a word of English. But I got by.” He laughed. “Right away a nice old gentleman took me home and since any French boy can make better love than any American, I got me a home real quick; then, later, I go into ballet here … to keep busy. I like work … work, sleep and …” He named his three passions.

“When did you meet Mr. Washburn?” I asked casually.

“When he came backstage at the old ballet company where I was working. I had done one beautiful
Bluebird;
I guess maybe the best damned
Bluebird
since Nijinski. Every company in America was after me. Washburn had the most money so I joined him and he made me
premier danseur.
I like him fine. He treats me like a king.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of those old ballets?”

“I hate all new dancing,” said Louis, diverted momentarily from his usual preoccupation with pussycats and such like.

“Even Jed Wilbur’s?”

Louis shrugged. “He’s the best of that kind, I guess. I don’t get much kick out of dancing in them, though … in
Eclipse
and now the new one.”

“Where the father kills the girl, isn’t it?”

“I think that’s the story. To tell you the truth I don’t pay much attention. I just do what they tell me. At least he let’s me do things I like to do … 
tours en l’air
, that kind of thing. He keeps me happy.”

“I wonder what the story means?”

“Why don’t you ask Jed? He’ll talk your ear off about it. I just go to sleep when he starts getting arty with me.”

“You sound like Eglanova,”

He snorted. “We got that in common then. I love her. She’s like a mother to me, ever since I’ve known her: Louis, you do this, Louis, you do that … Louis, don’t go out with sailors, Louis, don’t snap your head when you finish pirouette, Louis, don’t take such deep bows after ballet … I never had any mother,” said Louis, and for a minute I thought he was going to have a good cry.

“It’s terrible,” I said, “the way Mr. Washburn tried to get rid of her before Sutton was killed.”

“He’s a bastard,” said Louis, gloomily licking the edge of his gin glass. “He can’t help it. He was just made that way … all the time doing somebody dirty … not that he isn’t good to me, as long as I’m hot with the audience. The second I have a little trouble, get bad reviews or something awful, good-by Louis, I know him.”

“He’s a businessman.”

“Ballet is art not business,” said Louis making, as far as I knew, his first and last pronouncement on ballet. “But you should’ve seen his face when he came to find out if me and Ella were going to quit the company for sure and go into night clubs. He looked like somebody had just belted him one. ‘Now, Louis, you know we’re old friends …’ that was his line to me; so I strung him along awhile then I told him that Ella was just bluffing him.”

“Do you think she was?”

“At least as far as I was concerned. I didn’t have any intention of leaving the company, even though I’ve thought about it a lot. We had talked a little about it then and just lately Jed has been trying to talk me into doing that big musical of his this fall, but I said no; I mean the money’s very nice except that the government gets it all
 … then you’re out of a job maybe six months of a year with no money coming in and it isn’t so swell. No, I like to know I got a regular amount coming in every week, ten months a year.” I hadn’t realized before that Louis was quite so money-conscious, so shrewd.

“I wonder why Ella told Washburn that, about your quitting the company together?”

“Just to worry him a little, to raise her price. She knew he couldn’t find another dancer to take her place. As a matter of fact, just between you and me, I think she was planning to leave ballet in a year or so, but alone.
I
think she wanted to go in musicals and I got a feeling that was why she was so keen on getting Jed to join the company. Oh, she wanted to do a real modern ballet and all that but she wanted to work on him to get her a Broadway job. She had an eye for all the angles.”

“I thought Jed joined the company because of you.”

“You’re pretty fresh,
petit gosse
,” said Louis with a grin, pinching my thigh until I just about yelled with pain. “I wasn’t talking about why Jed joined us; I was talking about why Ella wanted him to, why she sold Washburn on the idea.” I rubbed my leg until the pain went away. One day I am going to beat the hell out of Louis, if I can; if I can’t I’ll do a lot of damage first.

“Jed’s sure got it bad for you,” I said in an earnest, slightly breathless tone of voice.

“Funny, isn’t it?” said Louis, with a sigh, stretching his arms and controlling a yawn … it was stifling in the bar, a single fan made a racket but did not cool the warm smoke-filled air. “He’s been after me for years. Used to write me crazy letters even before we started working together.”

I waved to the waiter who, without asking, brought us another round; before he left he gave Louis a lightning grope and Louis didn’t like it but, as I pointed out, he was just getting some of his own medicine. He didn’t think that was very funny but after he’d swallowed some more gin he was in a better mood. I tried to get him to talk about Mr. Washburn but he wanted to talk about Jed. “I’m a lone wolf,” he said, wiping his sweaty face with the back of his hand. “Lots of guys get themselves a nice pussycat and settle down but not me … I used to be a pussycat for some older guys, when I was real young, but I didn’t like it much and besides it isn’t dignified for a man like me to be kept by somebody else, and that’s what Jed’s got in mind. He wants me to settle down with him and be his boy while he makes dozens of ballets for me until I’m too old to get around a stage. Even if I liked the idea of going to bed with him, which I don’t and never have, I couldn’t go for that kind of life and, as for his making ballets for me, well, that’s what he’s doing right now with Mr. Washburn paying for them in cash, not me paying for them in tail … I tell him all this a thousand times but he doesn’t listen. He’s made up his mind I’m his big love and there’s nothing I can do about it. You’d think somebody who’d been around dancers as long as he has wouldn’t feel that way, like a little girl, but he’s got a one-track mind. He came to us just because I was in the company … not because Ella wanted him or because Washburn offered him a lot of money. Believe me it’s been hell dodging him, too. I can’t take my clothes off but what he isn’t in the dressing room wrestling around. I finally convinced him that Ella, who was making eyes at me this season, and me were having a hot affair and I suppose he fell
for it since I’ve been known to play the other side, too. I let Ella in on the secret and so we pretended we were having an affair which was fine until I found out she expected to have a real one … you could’ve knocked me over with a feather when she suggested the idea one afternoon, right after the season opened. I said no and from that time on till she died we were having trouble and I mean
trouble.
She used to do everything she could to break me up on stage and off. I hate to admit it but I was kind of relieved when that cable broke.”

So were a lot of people, I thought, sipping my third coke … I was getting more and more wide awake and, perhaps as a result of the caffein I was drinking, more and more keyed up.

Molly, in black satin and a dark wig, joined us. “Going to make a real night of it, dear?” he asked.

“First real bender this season,” said Louis, looking happy.

“Well, I must say you couldn’t pick a better place, and in better company,” said Molly giving me the eye. “You a dancer, honey?”