Paradise Man by Jerome Charyn Page B

friend. I loved those boys. I might not have killed them if Rat hadn’t paraded you in front of my eyes.”
    “He’s a child, I told you. He liked the power of bossing me around.”
    “I suppose you would have joined their gang in another week?”
    “No. But I might have continued cooking for them.”
    “Did you tell it to Rex?”
    “Of course. He laughed about it. But he was worried ... until you brought me home.”
    “I didn’t bring you home. Harrington did.”
    “But he works for you. And he was very fond of your dad.”
    “Jesus Christ, did Harrington open up on the ride?”
    “A little.”
    Holden sat down. “I’m speechless,” he said. “I assume the world is one thing, and suddenly it’s another. Why’d you come here?”
    “I told you. To talk.”
    “There’s nothing to talk about. I took you from Red Mike and gave you back to Rex and your father-in-law.”
    “But no one consulted me about it. I wouldn’t have minded a few more days without my clothes ... I liked the breeze on my body.”
    Holden stood up. “That’s enough.”
    “But I’m not finished yet, Mr. Holden.”
    “I’m not Mr. Holden,” Holden said. “I’m Holden.”
    “And I’d prefer it if you called me Fay.”
    “I can’t. I mean, I talked to you once ... at the Algonquin. You hardly said a word.”
    “But you’ve seen me without my clothes. And we did talk ... after you shot Michael and his brothers.”
    “That was different. I was on the job. It wasn’t a social occasion.”
    “It could have been. I might have cooked you a meal if you’d let Michael live.”
    Jesus, Holden thought, this woman had dropped her wig somewhere. “Look, I appreciate the effort. But I’m tired, Fay. I’ll take you home. We can talk again.”
    Her eyes lowered, and he felt a certain pity for her. She’d been caught in some crazy battle between the district attorney and the Pinzolo boys, and she’d flipped out in that bungalow.
    “The ‘S’ is for Sidney,” he said. “But don’t you dare repeat it.”
    She smiled. “Sidney. It’s a good name. I’d like to call you that.”
    “Only in private,” he said. “I have a reputation to consider. If people started saying Sidney to me, I’d have to bump them or leave town.”
    He managed to coax her out of the building and into a cab. She was a silent creature in a purple dress, looking out the window like a lost animal. Holden had the urge to stroke her hair.
    She lived on Madison and Sixty-ninth—but when her doorman rang the apartment, Rex wasn’t there—and Holden didn’t feel like leaving her all by herself.
    “Is your old man at the theater, rehearsing a play?”
    “I doubt it,” she said. “Try Muriel’s. He’s with all his whores.”
    What could Holden do? He stopped at Muriel’s townhouse on East Fifty-fourth, asked Fay to sit in the cab, and entered with the key Muriel gave to her choice clients. The men in Muriel’s parlor made a fuss over Holden, and Muriel herself admired the whiteness of his turban.
    “God, you’re handsome in that hat. It goes with all the blue.”
    “Where’s Rex? His wife is waiting.”
    “Holden, you should have brought her upstairs. We could have gotten her into a rummy game while Rex washes up ... try the south room. You’ll find him.”
    But he found Gottlieb first.
    “What were you doing in Inwood?” Gottlieb asked.
    “I went looking for Huevo.”
    “In La Familia’s own fortress? You always freak when you get back from Paris. Don’t go there again.”
    Scolded by a seventeen-year-old boy ... His reputation had slipped among his own society of rats.
    “I can’t get to Huevo without his madrina. And what am I supposed to do?”
    “Wait,” Gottlieb said.
    “Is Nick Tiel around?”
    “Yeah, he’s doing hash in one of Muriel’s closets.”
    “Take me to him.”
    “He might not appreciate that.”
    “Take me to Nick.”
    And Gottlieb showed him to a closet on the same floor. Nick was all alone with a little