Read Enough! (A Travesty and Ordo) for Free Online Page B

it was somebody Laura
knew socially.”
    This time Staples’ smile was condescending.
“Mr. Thorpe,” he said, “I hate to say this, but you’ve been
seeing too many movies. In real life killers don’t get that cute. Visualize it
for yourself; the guy gets in the apartment, kills Mrs. Penney, then he comes
into the kitchen and turns over one glass so we’ll think he knows her socially.
People just don’t act that way.”
    “I suppose not,” I said.
    Bray said, “I guess that’s about all
we’ll need you for at the moment, Mr. Thorpe. If we want to talk to you again,
I suppose you’ll be around.”
    “Of course.”
Smiling at them both I said, “I wasn’t planning on going out of
town.”
    Staples smiled back, but Bray didn’t.
    *
    Home again, I swallowed a Valium with bourbon
and sat down to listen to the messages on my answering machine. The first was from
Shirley, in her harsh ex-wife’s voice with its recently-acquired Boston accent: “There are some papers for you
to sign, whether you like it or not. I’m sending them today, special delivery,
and if we don’t get them back by Tuesday your father says I should hire a New York attorney. At your
expense.”
    Lovely. Next came the voice of Tim Kinywa of Third World Cinema , also
sounding petulant: “Sogeza here, Carey. Could you possibly give us a title
on the Eisenstein piece? I need it before noon tomorrow if at all possible.”
    Damn; I’d forgotten about that. Here before me
was the note I’d made, along with the note about the changed time for the
screening. I underlined both, while listening to my next message. A
secretary-type voice: “Mr. Thorpe, Mr. Brant will be in New York for a week, arriving Friday. If you’d care
to arrange an appointment, would you phone the Sherry-Netherland sometime
Saturday morning?”
    I would. For six months I’d been trying to set
up an interview with Big John Brant, famous old-time director of such classics
as Fury At Sundown, Tank Command, Fatal Lady and Smart
Alex , and finally it was going to happen. Good.
    The last message was from Kit: “Hello,
machine. Just wondered what your master was doing tonight. I’ll be in if he
feels like calling.”
    Did I feel like calling? I considered the
question while I dialed Tim’s number and listened to his recorded announcement:
“Hello, caller, this is the number of Sogeza Kinywa and Third World
Cinema . We aren’t answering the phone just now, but if you’ll leave your name
and phone number on this tape well get back to you very soon. Kwaheri, and peace.”
    Nobody talks to anybody any more. We just talk
to each other’s machines. “Hello, Tim,” I said to the machine.
“This is Carey, and the title is ‘The Influence of Eisenstein: Stairway To The Stars.’ I have an early screening tomorrow, but if
there’s any problem you can reach me at home after one.”
    And now Kit. After
the day I’d had I wasn’t sure I could handle the warm-human-being role tonight,
but I ought to call her back anyway and see if anything developed. So I dialed,
and damn if I didn’t get her machine: “Kit Markowitz here, on tape. I’m
really sorry not to answer in person, but if you’ll leave a message right after
the little beep, I’ll call you back just as soon as I can. Wait for it now, wait for it. Here it comes.”
    She’d changed her announcement; the previous
one had been more standard. After the little beep I said, “Too cute, Kit.
This is Carey, and I’m home for the evening.”
    After that, I settled down for a little work.
A new New York -type magazine called The Loop had started in Chicago, and I’d promised them a piece called
“Bogdanovitch: The Kid Brother As Leader Of The
Pack.” Linking Bogdanovitch and Ryan O’Neal through the seminal figure of
Lee Tracy was turning out to be more complicated than I’d anticipated.
    Kit phoned half an hour later to say, “I don’t think it’s too cute.”
    “It’s the wait for it that gets
me.”
    “But