The Best Revenge (28 page)

“You don't have perspective.”

“Right. I'm one-dimensional. I want the play to be a hit.”

“It'll be a hit in New York.”

“If you're going to have fantasies, Pinky, let's go back to the hotel. I like fantasies better in bed.”

Pinky left Washington. She didn't even suggest coming to the next stop in the tryout tour, Philadelphia. “I make you nervous,” she said.

“Masturbation makes me nervous,” I answered.

Mitch made me admit that in Philadelphia the cast was developing a certain confidence. He called it polish. I told him he was mispronouncing Polish. He told me you didn't get three curtain calls for a flop. I said they're applauding the actors, not the play. He said what the hell do you care what they're applauding, as long as they like it. I wanted to kill him and I hadn't even gotten around to killing Riller, so I went to the hotel and made myself watch television. I woke in a cold sweat. The clock said three a.m. Jesus, the TV was still on and it
was showing a commercial for the other play in town! Writers have the hearts of murderers!

Back in New York, I didn't know what to do with myself. That fifth cup of coffee tasted terrible. My tongue was rotting. My teeth were decayed. My alimentary canal wanted to burp and fart at the same time. Hasn't anyone got a body bag I could crawl into?

I felt the hand of authority on my shoulder. A cop? I'll go quietly. Then the familiar voice. “Hello, Gordon.” I looked up and saw him in the Chock Full o' Nuts mirror before I turned. Ben Riller slid onto the stool on my right. “How goes it?”

“If you're running out of ideas, I'll be happy to write early morning dialogue for you,” I said.

He laughed. “You're a bag of nerves,” he said.

“I don't know how we're doing.”

“Even if the play's a smash, there'll be a lot of work to keep it going.”

“I'll settle for a minor hit right now,” I said. “Where's your Italian friend?”

“I'm meeting him at the theater in ten minutes.”

“I haven't seen you without him since our little money crisis five weeks ago. I thought you guys were married.”

Riller had the nerve to laugh again. How can a guy laugh on the day of opening night? Is it possible you shower, shave, and shit today as on any other day?

“I have a suggestion,” Riller said. “See that counter lady? Every time she takes a warm hot-dog roll out of the bottom of the machine, she puts in another one at the top to get warmed up. Why don't you go home and start a new play on page one?”

“Today?”

“What better day?” Riller said. “Start a new one just before the old one opens.”

“You can't be that cool.”

“No,” he said. “There's Manucci heading for the theater. Got to catch him. See you tonight, Gordon. Remember, it's black tie.”

Black tie? Why didn't anybody tell me? Who owns a tux? Could I rent one the right size on short notice? I could see myself in a monkey suit four sizes too big. “That's the playwright,” they'd all point.

In the taxi I sat on the edge of the seat all the way home, as if by keeping my body weight off the seat the cab would go faster.

“Pinky,” I shouted, “start on the Yellow Pages. I need to rent a forty-long tux for tonight. I hope you've got a gown to match.”

Pinky said she was busy with the kid, why didn't I do the phoning. How could I, I said, I had something
urgent
to do.

A half hour later she came into the tiny room I use as a place to work in and found me at the typewriter.

“You're not making changes for tonight?” she said.

“Get out of here!” I shouted without looking up. “I'm trying to write a new one!”

28

Nick

I told
Mary, “After twenty years in this business, I don't see too many new situations anymore, except for Riller and this show. This has been like five weeks of foreplay and the thing still to come. What are you looking at me for?”

She doesn't say a thing.

“You biting your lip? I'll give you something to bite. Don't you turn your back on me. I can't make the house grow back where it was. We were lucky to get this rental where the kids could go to the same school, which is what you wanted, wasn't it?”

I am not going to lose one night's shut-eye about the house burning.

“I don't care about the house,” she says.

“You better care I collect the insurance. They're talking ‘suspicious origins,' maybe I need to feed them a few clues to Barone. This isn't the South Bronx where you can torch a house and forget it.”

“Your father says you deserved it. He's only sorry that it's my home, too.”

“Listen, why don't you marry the old man you like him so much. You think he never made mistakes?”

“Oh sure,” Mary says. “He made one helluva mistake the night you were conceived. He should have worn a condom.”

Out she goes before I can grab her. I used to like her smartass mouth better when it wasn't shooting off at me.

I don't care. I'm having a helluva time with this whole Riller deal. I try to be useful. For instance, when Ben filled me in on his old pal Sam Glenn wanting to waltz backward, I said, “One phone call is all I need. Give me his info card.”

Ben says, “Can I listen in?”

Why not? I let Ben pick up the extension, but I warn him, “Don't breathe.” I dial the number, and I tell whoever, “Mr. Sam Glenn, please.”

So she says, “Who's calling?” and I say, “Ben Riller,” winking over at Ben. I hear some intercom back and forthing and then he comes on. “You fuck,” he begins.

I motion Ben it's okay, relax.

“Mr. Glenn, Ben is kind of busy right now. This is Ben's partner. I'm in the money business, like you. I do lending and collecting. I assume you know people in the money business in New York, like Mister Forty-four?”

Dead air. “Are you there, Mr. Glenn?”

“Yeah,” he says finally.

“Good, good. You might want to call Forty-four and ask him about Nick Manucci, that's my name. I can give you other references.”

He cuts in. “I know who you are.”

“How nice. I understand that now that the play is fully financed, you want your piece out, is that correct?”

“That play's a dud.”

Ben is motioning me, but I wave him off. This is no time for interruptions.

“I'm sure your opinion is right for you, Mr. Glenn. I don't want to disagree with you. Just I think
The Best Revenge
is going to make a lot of money. Your sour grapes would just bother the hell out of me if you complained afterward, so I'd just as soon…”

“Just as soon what?”

“Take you out.”

I drum my fingers on the mouthpiece. Then I says, “I could send somebody to see you about that. I have a friend in Chicago.”

“I know about your friend in Chicago. I don't want him on these premises.”

“Easy, easy. I was going to suggest he meet you at…” I look at the card in front of me. “…thirty-five Ann Street.”

“I don't see anybody at my home.”

“Oh, that's sad, Mr. Glenn. I understand you threatened Mr. Riller a while back. That's not true, is it?”

Dead air again.

“It's okay to lie if that's what you want to do. All I care about is your investment. I'm perfectly happy to buy out your piece.”

“For cash?”

“I'll leave that up to my friend in Chicago. Maybe cash, maybe a note, maybe just his word, he's a man of his word.”

I hold my hand over the mouthpiece. It seems like minutes before he says, “Mr. Manucci, I'd rather discuss things with you than with one of your delegates. Do you want me in or out?”

I wink at Ben.

“But Mr. Glenn, you are in. Maybe you should stay in. Otherwise people could misinterpret your withdrawal. Mr. Glenn, I just noticed the time, I'm late for a funeral. Tell me quick, in or out.”

I can feel his sweat on the phone line.

“In,” he says.

“Glad to hear it,” I say. “Gotta run.”

I hang up. Ben looks like he's going to do a jig.

“Forget it,” I say. “Any time.”

*

I'm beginning to think that when Ben fell into my lap, I was ready for something different. I used to get excited one and a half times per transaction. Should-I-or-shouldn't-I is like a vibrator on the brain. Do I or don't I lend money to this guy sitting across from me? What would it take to cash in on the collateral if the loan went bad? Is this a one-shot or the beginning of a steady? When I say okay to the loan, the vibrator stops.

The half-high comes at the end of the line, the due date. Sometimes, not a ripple. But usually there's a phone call and the vibrator dings. Could I give him another week? Could he repay the loan and have his brother-in-law take out the same amount, only could his brother-in-law take it out a few seconds first so he'd have the money to repay the
original loan, shit like that. You can't believe the things people will try.

Sometimes it's smart to go along if you're getting your vigorish and you're pretty sure you'll get the principal eventually. Money's no good to you unless it's out there working.

The only time your brain has to work in high is when the customer first starts dancing. He's looking for a delay. A delay is okay if a guy knows what he's delaying for and it's just a matter of time. The amount of time doesn't matter. But if it's an act of God the guy's waiting for, you've got to show your knuckles. Showing knuckles to Sam Glenn was nothing.

*

A week before the opening, Mary and I were at the Rillers' town house for dinner and for Ben and me to shoot a little pool before Mary and I headed back to our rental. When Ben and I were down in the playroom, I asked him, “You ever get bored putting on a show?”

Ben concentrated on his bridge shot. Then the cue went straight forward just an inch, hitting the cue ball which hit the five perfectly, and only when the ball dropped into the pocket did Ben look up at me and say, “Are you kidding? It's the longest horse race in the world and there's no place or show.”

I waited my turn. Using the bridge for a difficult top shot, I said, “Loaning money is boring compared to your kind of horse racing.” I chalked the stick too much.

“Stick around,” is all Ben said.

“Ben, I been meaning to kind of apologize about hassling you on your deal at the beginning. I almost missed the fun.”

“Suppose the play flops?” Ben said, his eyes at me dead cold.

“I've thought about it.”

“What have you thought about it?”

“I'll write it off my income tax. Maybe the next one will make it double. I can afford fun.”

I concentrated so hard on giving the cue ball a little backspin it nearly missed the ten ball. Instead of plunking into the pocket, the ten ball moved just enough to position it for Ben.

“Like that,” I said. “I missed, but I'm still ahead. I'd like to have a serious talk with you sometime, Ben.”

We heard the doorbell ring upstairs. Ben took his turn, aiming carefully.

I said, “Last night I was thinking, if I was to get married all over again, you know what kind of woman I'd go after?”

“Shhhhh,” Ben said.

When he pocketed the ten ball, still bent over the table he looked up. “What kind of woman?” he said.

“Like Mary. She's got eyes for you.”

Ben straightened up. “What are you talking about, Nick?”

“I'm not fucking blind, Ben. I been neglecting her for a long time. She'd pick up on a guy like you.”

“Don't get jealous, Nick, it takes two.”

“Not always, Ben.”

Ben's wife was on the last stair coming down to the poolroom. I hoped she didn't hear anything.

“The UPS man wants your signature for the package, Nick,” she said.

Instantly Ben said, “Stay here, Nick.” Like a shot he was up the stairs. I followed him. His hand on Jane's arm got her away from the door. He opened it.

The UPS man said, “You Mr. Manucci?”

“Mr. Manucci isn't here. Where's Lenny?”

“Who's Lenny?”

“Our regular UPS man.”

“He's off today.”

“Where's your truck?”

“Down the block. You going to sign for this package?”

“Get the hell out of here or I'll call the cops.”

Ben shut the door in the guy's face. I started to say something and Ben said, “Hold it.” Then he opened the door a crack.