The Texas Twist (23 page)

“Money-go-round,” nodded Vic. “That sounds good. So long as we get the money.”

“I wish I could persuade you, Vic: Money is just how we keep score.”

“I wish I could persuade you, Radar: Money is just how we buy cars.”

“I wish I could persuade you both,” said a low voice behind them. “Money is just how we have fun.” Radar and Vic turned to see Woody's familiar features peering out from, of all things, a dented and extravagantly cracked football helmet emblazoned with the head and horns of an orange steer in silhouette. Along with matching padded pants and jersey, it looked like the real UT McCoy, which wouldn't surprise Radar at all, for Woody was handy at putting his hands on stuff, and Radar imagined that he'd made this skill part of the Wellinov docket as well.

“Mr. Wellinov,” said Radar, “so good to see you again.”

“You as well, Mr. Hoverlander…Mr. Mirple.”

“It's Mirplo,” corrected Vic.

“Is it? I'm terrible with names.”

“And apparently with dressing yourself.”

“What, this?” Woody rapped the side of the helmet. “It might be my costume. I'm trying it out.”

“So your favorite fool is a concussed quarterback?”

“Exactly.”

Radar opened the door and together they ascended the steps. “I like it,” he said.

By the time they reached the office door, Woody was deep in character. “Frankly, sir, while it pleases me to hear you say so, it isn't your opinion I seek.”

“No? Then whose?”

“Why, the young firecracker who works in your office,
of course.”

“Her opinion matters, does it?”

“To me, yes.”

Radar opened the door and immediately thought,
In that you're not alone,
for there stood Cal Jessup looming over Kadyn at her desk, attempting to flirt. Her prior put-down had, as predicted, indeed brought him back for more. With no more success than before, apparently; Radar read the glower on Kadyn's face and heard Jessup comment to no one in particular, “Well, it's the wildest fillies that's most worth breakin'.” He tipped his hat to Kadyn and turned to go.

As Jessup passed Wellinov, Radar caught the two exchanging looks. On Jessup's part, it may have been the incongruity of seeing an AARP candidate in a football helmet. To Wellinov, Jessup might have looked like competition for a lady's affection. They cycled through a number of expressions before settling on mutual wariness. After Jessup left, Henry struck a caricature of a Heisman pose and asked Kadyn, “Well, my dear, what do you think? Am I appropriately foolish?”

All she said was, “Hook 'em Horns.”

“Hook them indeed,” he said. When they shared a smile it looked like he'd scored a point. “Would Mr. Ames be in by any chance? I have a matter of some weight to discuss.”

Kadyn buzzed Ames, who strode out of his office and greeted Wellinov effusively. “Henry! So great to see you. What brings you in? Nice look. Is that what you're wearing to the bash?” Radar watched as Ames overtly surrendered status to Wellinov and tried to level the move. An Ames on the straight, he knew, would act exactly this way: showing deference to a donor. However, so would an Ames on the
snuke. So, for that matter, would an Ames who didn't buy Wellinov's docket but didn't want to let on. So there were three different motivations for the same action.
But if they all lead to the same action, does it really matter what the motivation is?
In other words, if he could predict Ames's behavior, he could ignore the question of which level informed it.
Huh. Beat the leveling game by just not playing it.
That was a new thought for Radar. He knew it was inspired by Kadyn's notions, and she correspondingly rose in his estimation.
Girl's got game,
he thought.
Now what to make of that?

Ames led Wellinov into his office. As soon as the door shut behind them, Mirplo activated his listening software and tossed wireless earbuds to the others.

“When I bring you my cash,” they heard Wellinov say, “I don't want to just hand it over. I want to make a splash.”

Radar turned to Vic and mouthed the words
money-go-round.
Vic nodded. Off Kadyn's questioning look, he mouthed,
I'll explain later.

“A splash?” asked Ames guardedly. After his last vexing conversation with Wellinov, he may have been wondering—and worrying—where this one was headed. “What kind of splash?”

“A damn big one!” said Henry. “Show that money off! Make it do some work. Inspire others to give.” Wellinov now laid out his (cockamamie to Adam's ear) theory that big displays of money, if done with the proper panache, could create an atmosphere of, as he put it, “sympathetic donation,” especially among partygoers drunk enough to let down their guard. Ames claimed not to understand what Henry was driving at. “Don't you? But it's simple. Giving
inspires giving. If we flash enough cash at the bash, we'll open every wallet in the house.”

Adam tried to dampen Henry's enthusiasm. “It seems risky,” he said. “I can't let you expose your money—”

“Oh, your money, too, don't forget,” said Henry with some glee.

In the silence that followed, Radar could imagine Ames coming to terms with Wellinov's genteel extortion. He may have been planning to meet Henry's contribution in name only. Now, however, he'd be pressed to produce—to show green, in grifter cant. He grasped at a last straw. “I don't know,” he said. “Won't it turn the party into a circus?”

“It already is a circus, son. Haven't you heard? This town has fool fever. Now you made me an offer to be your—how shall I put it?—foremost fool, and I was happy to accept. But you accepted too, yes? So, do we have an understanding or not? Because if you don't want my money, I'm sure some home for stray dogs will.”

“No, no,” said Ames with quick reassurance, “you stick with me.”

“That I will, sir. We'll be two admirable fools standing up in front of everyone saying, ‘Be fools like us and give from your heart.' Oh, it'll be epic.”

“Epic,” muttered Adam, with all the false sincerity he could mount.

Henry, apparently satisfied with this, got up to go. At the sound of scuffling chairs, Radar and the others pocketed their earbuds. Wellinov passed through the outer office, Heisman-posed once more for Kadyn, and departed down the stairs.

Adam's forced smile vanished as soon as the outer door
closed. “Radar,” he said, snapping his fingers, “my office.” When Radar joined him there, Ames outlined Henry's plan, and now his disdain fully flowed. “First, it's gauche,” he said. “Just bad taste. Second, I don't think it'll have the intended effect.”

“It might,” said Radar. “People get funky around cash. I've seen it happen before. Do it right, you can get a real feeding frenzy going. I think the old man has a good idea.”

“Do you? I wonder.” He paused, then continued. “I don't know if you know it, Radar, but I've learned a lot from you. I'm starting to think your way of looking at things isn't all wrong.”

“So now you're suspicious?”

“I see where it might be useful to be.” Ames sank back in his chair and sighed. “He wants the matching funds to be truly matching, Radar. His cash and my cash, right out there in front of God and everyone. The problem is, I don't think I can pull it off.”

“No?”

“Not until the endowment is in hand. My personal resources are not what you seem to think they are. Things are leveraged, you know?”

“Things usually are,” said Radar.

Ames pursed his lips. “Radar, I hate to ask, but…” he puffed out his cheeks. “How about you?”

“How about me what?”

“Could you get that liquid? Am I using the word right? Could you lend me the money? I'd just be holding it, of course. Literally just for the evening. To show Wellinov that I honored my word.”

“Wellinov who may or may not be remotely what he seems?”

“Ah, yes, we're back to the joke name and what it represents. Well, I haven't gone completely over to your way of thinking, Radar. I've looked in the man's eyes and I judge him to be sincere. But even if he were a scoundrel, wouldn't it be that much more meaningful to turn his bad money good?”

“I suppose,” said Radar.

“I'll put up a bond, of course.”

“A bond?”

“Security for your cash. Right now I'm thinking about something from my great-great-grandmother. She…well, Radar, she was royalty.”

“Was she now?”

“Yes, a duchess of Schleswig-Holstein. Certain heirlooms have been handed down to me, including one in particular. A ring, quite valuable. Of course I'd never want to sell it, but I'd let you hold it as my promise that your money will be safe.”

Radar couldn't look at Ames just then.

He was afraid he would laugh out loud.

L
ater, Allie did. “Collateral glass,” she said, shaking with amusement. “I can't believe the dude offered you collateral glass.”

“I know, huh?” said Radar. “That's more than a little insulting.”

They lay together on a big bed at the Four Seasons Hotel downtown, in a spacious suite on a high floor with a broad view of Lady Bird Lake, for one of Radar's baby books had sung the praises of giving the mom-to-be a romantic-retreat treat. As dusk fell they watched millions of Mexican Freetail bats stream forth from the crannies of Congress Bridge and ribbon away east across the sky on their collective mission to hasten reincarnation for ten tons of insects a night. The last red rays of the sun spilled across the suite and found Allie's belly, now convex as a soup spoon. She laced her fingers behind her head, which pulled her breasts upward and flattened them against her rib cage. To Radar she never
looked more lovely, nor more matter-of-fact.

“But you have to admit,” said Allie, “it plays both ways. It's something a doofus would do, but also a trick what hustlahs try.”

“Which clarifies exactly nothing,” said Radar. “Which is exactly what I want to think about now.” He ran his hand up the length of her thigh and was a bit surprised when she stopped it.

“Whoa there, hot stuff. You're awful keen these days.”

“I'm keen? You should see you.”

“That was last week. Anyway, what are you afraid of? That you'll run out of turns? Trust me, lover, you'll never run out of turns.”

“Well, that's romantic as hell. I think.”

She sat up and straddled him. “You want romance? I might have some here somewhere.” She scooted up his chest. “I think I can show you just where.” He felt her inner thighs on his neck, then his chin. As he was intimate with her, with the taste and smell of her, he felt, and not for the first time, just in awe of her: her beauty, her heat, her frank sexuality. If he were completely honest with himself, he'd have to say he felt privileged to have access to her.
Access,
he thought,
that's a funny word. But pleasing, though. Pleasing.
He hoped she found access to him as pleasing. From her throaty moan just then it seemed that she did. She let him be for a bit, then dove on him and occupied him like territory. Somewhere subtropical in them a storm started to form. It grew, then raged, and then actually shook them loose from each other. Allie spilled away and rolled into a lotus seat. He could see her glistening nexus. “You are so much the man I love,” she
said. Then she climbed back upon him and rocked him like the hurricane they became.

Later, Radar and Allie lay together in the gathering gloom. Radar could feel sleep creeping up on him—until a lucid dream suddenly snapped him awake. “Allie,” he said, “I just thought of our costumes.”

“Which are what?” murmured Allie, herself more than half asleep.

“Bride and groom.”

She raised her head and looked at him through half-open eyes. “Fools in love?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Fools in love.”

“I love it.”

“You haven't heard the best part,” he said. “We could actually do it for real.”