William Kienzle - Requiem for Moses

She was still surrounded by friends and well-wishers. And she still did not seem in the least a grieving widow. Koesler wondered what her story might be if she were to unburden herself a la Cameron.

“I wish I could break in on Mrs. Green,” Koesler said. “Thanks for your help and all, Mr. Cameron, but Mrs. Green promised me some-I trust-useful background I can use for the eulogy-brief though it may be.”

“I think,” Cameron said, “that you’re going to get some more feedback from that couple over there who are eyeing us. I know at least part of the woman’s relationship with Moe. But, unless I’m mistaken, you won’t be able to use her stuff either. Now, pardon me while I slip outside. I really need a smoke.”

Cameron turned and headed for the door.

Koesler reflected that it was a lucky thing that Green had died of natural causes. If it had been murder, Jake Cameron would make a prime suspect.

Revenge would be an obvious motive for all the meddling the doctor had done in Cameron’s life and career. An even stronger motive would be Green’s latest threat to cut Cameron completely out of the business he had built from scratch. To shatter Cameron’s dream come true. Driven to this point, Cameron probably would stop at nothing to prevent Green from stripping the dream away.

But, for now, the couple that Cameron had pointed out were, indeed, approaching, and purposefully.

Koesler prayed they would have something reasonably positive to say about Dr. Green.

They were a handsome young couple, he tall and rugged, with piercing blue eyes and thick dark blond hair; she with brilliant red hair and a face and figure of classic beauty. They were headed directly for Koesler. There was no point in trying to move away. Besides, despite Cameron’s prediction, they might just have a reminiscence or two he could use.

“You’re the pastor here, Father?” the woman asked.

“Yes.”

“And you’re going to speak about Dr. Green?”

“Right again … at least that’s the plan.” During the past few minutes, he had been busy making resolutions never to let himself get into a jam like this again. All the while he knew such panic resolutions were not worth the paper they were not written on.

“Well,” the young woman said, “I’m Claire McNern and this is my fiance, Stan Lacki.”

Koesler had known a Lacki in the seminary. Put a couple of curlicues on a couple of the letters and Lacki is pronounced a very Polish Wonski. An Irish girl marrying a Polish boy. Nice.

“We saw you talking to Jake Cameron. He’s a partner of Dr. Green and you were talking so seriously, we figured that you were probably talking about the doctor.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, Father,” she said, “I don’t know what Jake was telling you. There were rumors about Jake and the doctor, but I don’t know how true they are.”

“You have some connection with the club? Virago?”

“I used to dance there.” She blushed.

You don’t find that much anymore. Blushing, Koesler feared, had become somewhat old-fashioned. Personally, he liked it.

“You see,” she said without further preamble, “like I said, Stan and I are getting married. At least we plan to. But we’ve got some problems. A couple of big ones. It’s like this, Father: Stan here works in a service station. He doesn’t just pump gas; he’s a terrific mechanic. And I wait tables at Carl’s Chop House.”

Ah , thought Koesler, she left showbiz. I wonder why. But this is beginning to sound like a problem I could better handle in the rectory. It’s certainly not getting me more prepared to say anything about the deceased.

“Excuse me, Father,” she continued. “I’m really nervous. This is kind of a personal problem. Stan and I really need to find somebody who’s willing to take the time with us and listen. And, while you were talking with Jake, Stan here said, ‘You know, Claire, that priest seems awful patient. He seems real interested in what Cameron is telling him. Maybe we can talk to him.’”

That did it. These people really wanted-needed-to talk. Koesler could not find it within himself to turn them away. Even if they didn’t tell him anything about Moe Green; if worst came to worst he could always go generic.

“Well, see, Father …”

She would tell the story. But Stan was leaning in close. His very nearness would join him to the narration.

“This happened about two years ago. I was auditioning for a job as a dancer at Virago. I was nervous as hell-oh, excuse me, Father.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been that nervous.” If I had any sense, Koesler thought, I’d be that scared now.

“Did you ever try out for something,” she asked, “and you were real confident until you got a look at what the other contestants could do? And then you knew you were way out of your league? Well, that’s what happened to me at Virago a couple of years ago.

“I was second last of eighteen girls. All the other girls had competed before. So they were all winners already. They’d won auditions before. So they were the cream of the crop. I got there ‘cause a friend of mine was a friend of one of the big shots at Virago.

“When I saw what these kids could do, I knew I shouldn’t have even been there. But when my turn finally came, I gave it my best shot.”

THE PAST

Dr. Moses Green chuckled. “Where in the world did you find her? ”

Jake Cameron was sore, and he sounded it. “Joe Blinstraub owed a favor. The only thing we had to agree to was to include her in the audition.”

Since becoming a partner, Green had assumed an active role at Virago, much to Cameron’s exasperation and distress. Whenever an audition was scheduled, Green made every effort to attend. Only rarely did he allow his medical practice to interfere.

“Going to take her on, Jake?” Green chortled.

Cameron merely snorted.

Then Green leaned forward. Something had occurred to him. After several moments of reflection, he drew his chair closer to Cameron’s. Competing against the music, the doctor spoke loudly into Cameron’s ear. “Take her on, Jake.”

Cameron turned to him. “You crazy?”

“Not often, but this time yes. She’ll be lucky if she gets off that stage in one piece. A little bad luck in that routine and she could hurt herself.”

The suggestion didn’t make any sense at all. But, in Cameron’s experience, the doctor usually got what he wanted.

“Jake,” Green said, still speaking over the music, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re planning a big finale a la Las Vegas, with all the dancers, at the end of each evening’s major set.”

Cameron nodded slowly.

“Put her in that. Stick her back in the back row, put her in the wings-hell, put her backstage if you want.”

“This doesn’t make any sense at all, Moe. The broad is here as a favor, nothing more. We didn’t know anything about her; she might’ve turned out to be good. As it is, she stinks. We’ll let her finish her routine-if you could call it that. Then she’s outta here.”

“Tell you what,” Green persisted, “take her on and I’ll personally see that she gets professional instruction. If, after she gets the training, she can’t make this line legitimately, she’s history. But, in the meantime, she dances at Virago. I don’t care where. The ladies’ room.”

“Why bother? We got enough pros in this batch to fill our needs.”

“Jake, remember that revolving stage you were planning?”

Cameron winced.

“I was going to provide the financing.”

“ Was going?”

“I think I’m running kind of short.”

“So are professional basketball players.”