She said, "Rah, team, rah," and blew smoke in my face. She was impressed,however; her eyes were dilated by unhappy visions, as were mine: iron rooms, steelcorridors of gradually closing doors. "Oh, screw it," she said, and stabbed out hercigarette. "I have a fair ce they wont catch me. Provided you keep your bouchefermez. Look. Dont despise me, darling." She put her hand over mine and pressed itwith sudden immense siy. "I havent much choice. I talked it over with thelawyer: oh, I didnt tell him anything regarding Rio -- hed tip the badgers himself,rather than lose his fee, to say nothing of the nickels O.J. put up for bail. Bless O.J.sheart; but on the coast I helped him win more thahou in a single pokerhand: were square. No, heres the real shake: all the badgers want from me is acouple rabs and my services as a states witness against Sally -- nobody hasany iion of proseg me, they havent a ghost of a case. Well, I may berotten to the core, Maude, but: testify against a friend I will not. Not if they prove he doped Sister Kenny. My yardstick is how somebody treats me, and oldSally, all right he wasnt absolutely white with me, say he took a slight advantage,just the same Sallys an okay shooter, and Id let the fat woman snatch me soohahe law-boys pin him down." Tilting her pact mirror above her face,smoothing her lipstick with a crooked pinkie, she said: "And to be ho, that isntall. Certain shades of limelight wreck a girls plexion. Even if a jury gave me thePurple Heart, this neighborhood holds no future: theyd still have up every rope fromLaRue to Peronas Bar and Grill -- take my word, Id be about as wele as Mr.
Frank E. Campbell. And if you lived off my particular talents, Cookie, youduand the kind of bankruptcy Im describing. Uh, uh, I dont just fancy a fadeoutthat finds me belly-bumping around Roseland with a pack of West Side hillbillies.
While the excellent Madame Trawler sashayes her twat in and out of Tiffanys. Icouldnt take it. Give me the fat woman any day."
A nurse, soft-shoeing into the room, advised that visiting hours were over. Hollystarted to plain, and was curtailed by having a thermometer popped in hermouth. But as I took leave, she unstoppered herself to say: "Do me a favor, darling.
Call up the Times, or whatever you call, a a list of the fifty richest men inBrazil. Im not kidding. The fifty richest: regardless of race or color. Another favor --poke around my apartment till you find that medal you gave me. The St.
Christopher. Ill for the trip."
The sky was red Friday night, it thundered, and Saturday, departing day, the cityswayed in a squall-like downpour. Sharks might have swum through the air, thoughit seemed improbable a plane could pee it.
But Holly, ign my cheerful vi that her flight would not go, tinuedher preparations -- plag, I must say, the chief burden of them on me. For she haddecided it would be unwise of her to e he brownstone. Quite rightly, too: itwas under surveillance, whether by police or reporters or other ied partiesone couldnt tell -- simply a man, sometimes men, who hung around the stoop. Soshed gone from the hospital to a bank and straight then to Joe Bells Bar. "She dontfigure she was followed," Joe Bell told me when he came with a message that Hollywanted me to meet her there as soon as possible, a half-hour at most, bringing:"Her jewelry. Her guitar. Toothbrushes and stuff. And a bottle of hundred-year-oldbrandy: she says youll find it hid down