The Last Hot Time (6 page)

So will you tell me what my loves about

Carmen had a nice voice. She seemed to be pushing hard, as if she really wanted the crowd to break down and cry for her.

Tell me what my true love needs

Should I dress in satins

Or in old gray weeds

Would it suit his style

To be Emperor of my Nile

On a barge among the whispering reeds

Even Moses wouldn '/ travel

Without spying out the land

So will you tell me where my loves heart stands

Everybody applauded. Someone whistled. Carmen took a bow, went off, came back for another bow. Another spot came on, moved around the room, stopping on Matt and Gloss. More applause.

"Would you mind?" Patrise said.

"Should have had one less rib," Danny heard Matt say, but they stood up to applause. Matt took off his jacket (there wasn't a speck of barbecue sauce on it) and they went out on the floor. Gloss White whispered to Alvah. He nodded, cracked his knuckles

with a flourish, and barrel-rolled into "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting."

Matt and Gloss danced: they moved like fury, they lit things up. When he spun her round, cometary light followed them. By the chorus, the crowd was up, shouting "Saturday! Saturday, Saturday!" and hell, it was Thursday. Finally they pressed back-to-back for a tap routine that seemed to take place in air. And there was a cheer. The dancers took their bow, scrambled out through the door Pavel was holding open.

"Coffee, I think," Patrise said. When it was poured, he held up his delicate china cup and said, "Once upon a time, when you had to go to the Shadow country for a drink of anything worth going out somewhere to drink, they served it in teacups. Now the World drips whiskey, and we slip the coffee over the line."

Danny said, "Was there a Levee—" He stopped, afraid he'd said something out of turn.

But Patrise smiled. "The first Chicago Levee existed at the end of the nineteenth century. But the Shadow regions have always been, and always will be. It's . . . other places that come and go."

Carmen reappeared. "How did I do?"

"You did," Patrise said, "And you do, and you are." She leaned down to kiss him.

Matt and Gloss came back, in fresh outfits, still all white, all black: Matt in a loose cotton suit over a crewnecked shirt, Gloss in a shiny ebony skintight, with thin satin straps that crossed and wound to her throat, and an oval of elf-white midriff showing behind a gauze panel.

"I must speak to Boris," Patrise said, as if to himself. Then the spotlight was on the stage again, on Cloudhunter.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, and now his voice was a faint breeze on a still pond, "friends of all lands and all origins. La Mirada is pleased to present. . . Phasia, the Voice."

Cloudhunter stepped back, out of sight There was absolute silence. Danny felt his heart hammering in anticipation of god knew what. The curtains opened. A woman in a plain white bare-shouldered gown stood in a column of light. She was pale, but not an elf; dark brown hair fell in curls around her bare throat, and her eyes were piercingly blue in the downlight

It was the woman he had seen last night. . . Danny thought. The face was the same, he was sure, but she did not have the extreme, unreal, frightening beauty he had seen then. Maybe he had been dreaming.

She raised her arms, curling long thin fingers with bright red nails, and began to sing.

No, this had to be the dream.

There was a singer Danny's mother had liked, a woman with a multiple-octave range who could use it all as an instrument, making silly pop lyrics sound profound, meaningless be-bop-a-lula syllables meaningful.

There weren't even distinct syllables now, just a continuous flow of sound. Danny could faintly recognize the tunes: they were, had been, "Orange Blossom Special" and "Walk On By" and "Can't Help Lovin'," but that didn't matter either; with the voice, the Voice—it was silly to call it pure music, like saying rain was pure water and the sun was pure light, so a rainbow was—there it just was, and Danny thought how much better it would be to be blind than deaf. It was hard to move one's look away from Fay, but Danny saw Alvah Fountain sitting straight up on the piano bench, his hands folded, his fingers knotted tight enough to snap right off. He wasn't playing a note, so where was the music coming from?

She wound down to the last note of a song that was "My Funny Valentine" when it had words, and they all woke up, back where they had been, wondering what they had done in their sleep. Phasia took a sweeping bow, and the curtains closed on her. Danny wondered why there was so little applause—why the walls weren't cracking with it—and when he tried to clap, found that his hand wouldn't move, and hurt. In a moment he realized it was because Ginny was squeezing it in both of hers. She was crying.

He fumbled the silk handkerchief out of his pocket and gave it to her. As she wiped her face, he noticed the dampness on his own cheeks. He saw Mr. Patrise watching them.

Patrise said, "Why don't you take the lady home, Hallow? This has hardly been a quiet night off for either of you."

Ginny nodded and looked into her empty coffee cup. Danny wobbled his chair back, went to stand by Ginny's. She took his hand and stood up.

Patrise said, "Ginevra, you're not on duty tomorrow, are you?''

"No, sir. I would have been working tonight, but..."

"That's fine, then. Hallow, we will be working, but not until quite late."

"Yes, sir."

"Then good night."

Pavel brought their coats, lifted his topper as he opened the door.

"It's cold," Danny said. The sky was mostly low pink clouds, with a few holes. Mist drifted across the street.

"It's almost Halloween," she said. "Is that why you're called Hallownight? 'Cause you got here on Halloween?"

"It's my birthday. Halloween is, I mean."

"Oh. I had a friend whose birthday was the Fourth of July. They always had her parrs' a couple of days early, nobody wanted to have two parties at once."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Down this way." They turned into the alley. Danny heard a scuffling, then feet running away. He looked up and down the street, into the darkness past the car, but didn't see anyone. He thought about taking Ginny's hand, but just put her between himself and the nice solid wall. He pointed to the Triumph. "Here it is."

"Oh, it's cute! I haven't seen one like this."

"It's mine. I brought it with me from home."

"A guy with his own car," she said, faraway. "My grandma used to talk about when all the guys had their own cars, you know, before Elfland and stuff." She walked around the TR3, looked at the rear plate. "Iowa, huh."

He opened the door. "Where you from?"

"Ohio. Since my mom and dad broke up. But I was born in Italy. My dad was Navy, with the Med Fleet."

"That sounds neat. I mean, well—was it?"

"Sometimes. Dad took me around Europe, when he could. We went to Paris four or five times. The Shadow there's called the Rc\ c Gauche. Do you get that?"

"Sorry."

"It's . . . I'll tell you another time. I think mv favorite cit\ is Florence, though. Florence is beautiful. The art, and the buildings • .

Elfland didn't come back there. They say they don't need it."

He helped her get into the car, then got in himself. "So then your name's really—"

"Oh, no. My name—my dad's name—was Artensteen. Ginevra da Benci is a woman in a painting by Leonardo da Vinci. I don't look anything like her, though. Mr. Patrise called me that." She gave him a small, nervous grin. "He said, 'You can't be the Gio-conda. You smile too much.' "

"The Jo—I'm sorry, I'm stupid."

"The heck you are. You know the Mona Lisa?"

"Sure."

"Same painting. She's also called La Gioconda"

He started the car. "So, where do you live?"