But Holly, ignoring my cheerful conviction that her flight would not go, continuedher preparations -- placing, I must say, the chief burden of them on me. For she haddecided it would be unwise of her to come near the brownstone. Quite rightly, too: itwas under surveillance, whether by police or reporters or other interested 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 in the bottom of the dirty-clothes basket.
Christopher. Ill need it for the trip."
The more she cajoled him ("Ah, Mr. Bell. The lady doesnt vanish every day. Wontyou toast her?"), the gruffer he was: "Ill have no part of it. If youre going to hell,youll go on your own. With no further help from me." An inaccurate statement:because seconds after hed made it a chauffeured limousine drew up outside the bar,and Holly, the first to notice it, put down her brandy, arched her eyebrows, asthough she expected to see the District Attorney himself alight. So did I. And when Isaw Joe Bell blush, I had to think: by God, he did call the police. But then, withburning ears, he announced: "Its nothing. One of them Carey Cadillacs. I hired it. Totake you to theairport."
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 penetrate it.
A nurse, soft-shoeing into the room, advised that visiting hours were over. Hollystarted to complain, 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.
Never mind why, but once I walked from New Orleans to Nancys Landing,Mississippi, just under five hundred miles. It was a light-hearted lark compared tothe journey to Joe Bells bar. The guitar filled with rain, rain softened the papersacks, the sacks spilt and perfume spilled on the pavement, pearls rolled in thegutter: while the wind pushed and the cat scratched, the cat screamed -- but worse,I was frightened, a coward to equal José: those storming streets seemed aswarmwith unseen presences waiting to trap, imprison me for aiding an outlaw.
Stumbling, skidding up and down the fire escape between Hollys apartment andmine, wind-blown and winded and wet to the bone (clawed to the bone as well, forthe cat had not looked favorably upon evacuation, especially in such inclementweather) I managed a fast, first-rate job of assembling her going-away belongings. Ieven found the St. Christophers medal. Everything was piled on the floor of myroom, a poignant pyramid of brassières and dancing slippers and pretty things Ipacked in Hollys only suitcase. There was a mass left over that I had to put in papergrocery bags. I couldnt think how to carry the cat; until I thought of stuffing him ina pillowcase.
He turned his back on us to fiddle with one of his flower arrangements. Holly said:"Kind, dear Mr. Bell. Look at me, sir."
And the cat, released, leaped and perched on her shoulder: his tail swung like abaton conducting rhapsodic music. Holly, too, seemed inhabited by melody, somebouncy bon voyage oompahpah. Uncorking the brandy, she said: "This was meant tobe part of my hope chest. The idea was, every anniversary wed have a swig. ThankJesus I never bought the chest. Mr. Bell, sir, three glasses."
"Youll only need two," he told her. "I wont drink to your foolishness."
The outlaw said: "Youre late, Buster. Did you bring the brandy?"
Yeah, oh, and the cat. She wants the cat. But hell," he said, "I dont know we shouldhelp her at all. She ought to be protected against herself. Me, I feel like telling thecops. Maybe if I go back and build her some drinks, maybe I can get her drunkenough tocall it off."
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 chance 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 sincerity. "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 once on the coast I helped him win more than ten thou in a single pokerhand: were square. No, heres the real shake: all the badgers want from me is acouple of free grabs and my services as a states witness against Sally -- nobody hasany intention of prosecuting 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 canprove 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 soonerthan help the law-boys pin him down." Tilting her compact mirror above her face,smoothing her lipstick with a crooked pinkie, she said: "And to be honest, that isntall. Certain shades of limelight wreck a girls complexion. 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 welcome as Mr.
Call up the Times, or whatever you call, and get 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.
While the excellent Madame Trawler sashayes her twat in and out of Tiffanys. Icouldnt take it. Give me the fat woman any day."
Frank E. Campbell. And if you lived off my particular talents, Cookie, youdunderstand 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.
