William Kienzle - Requiem for Moses

“One example: Green had been divorced before he met Margie. She made him get some kind of additional divorce-a Catholic one-before she would marry him.”

“An annulment.”

“Yeah, that’s it. They put him through the wringer. A lot of time and a lot of trouble. But she got him to do it. That’s pretty much how it’s been with them over the years. Now, I would guess it’s probably fifty-fifty. But, you gotta remember: I get my information second-and third-hand. When Margie left me, she left me. As far as I know, she’s been faithful to him. Which, of course, is probably more than you could say as far as he’s concerned.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Father, I feel the need for a weed ….”

“Oh, of course. Just one last question: When we met a few minutes ago, I think you said that you and Dr. Green were partners. But then you said you repaid the loan two years early … you said you absolutely refused his bid to become your partner. I mean you seemed very resolute-very!”

Cameron grinned mirthlessly. “Things change. Especially when someone is pulling your string.”

THE PAST

It was 1990.

Employee turnover at Virago was high, compared with other area restaurants. Most eateries did not offer top wages or anything close to top. Many employees were young and wanted to improve their opportunities.

With the topless bar, customers-almost all of whom were male-wanted new bodies from time to time. What they got were mostly new faces. The bodies were much the same from one dancer to the next.

Virago had become the premier topless bar/restaurant in the metropolitan area. Its dancers were as good as they came, both in talent and looks. Nonetheless, the cast did change periodically.

Jake Cameron had final say at the auditions of prospective dancers. Realistically, he was a good judge of performance. More deeply, he enjoyed the hell out of beautiful women au naturel-or as close thereto as possible.

Sixteen contestants had already performed this morning. Each had received the same valedictory from Jake Cameron: “Thanks. We’ll call you.”

Actually, it was a considerable achievement to have reached this level in auditions for Virago. These women had survived three previous cuts, having been winnowed by Cameron’s attorney and chief assistant, Joe Blinstraub.

The final two applicants waited in the wings. One extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Susan Batson.”

The other took her hand. “Judy Young. Cold in here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. But I’m so nervous I don’t notice it much.” Susan, with soft chocolate skin, was gorgeous.

“Well, I do. I don’t mind being last, but not if it means coming down with a cold.” Judy’s naturally curly brunette hair cascaded over her shoulders, as if a comb had not even been run through it. Her hair, along with everything else about her, was perfect.

She peered around the curtain. “Is Jake Cameron out there? Do you know what he looks like, Susan? Which one is he?”

Susan didn’t need to look; she had scouted this territory en route to the dressing room. “He’s the best-looking guy out there. Nice dark hair, styled. Good strong face. Broad shoulders. Probably got great buns. Sleeves rolled up. Holding the pad and pencil. You can’t miss him.”

Judy smiled. “Not after that description.”

“Susan, we’re ready for you,” a masculine voice called.

“Wish me luck.”

“You got it.”

As Susan danced out onto the stage, she was thinking of the earlier contestants whom she could outperform. That was a happy thought, because she knew that even if Judy Young were to stumble over her own feet, she’d still win a spot. No one should be allowed to look that perfect.

Judy watched Susan dance. Good. Very good. But not good enough to beat her.

If Susan had had the interpretive training and classic instruction that Judy’d had-maybe. Susan was pretty enough; no problem there. And her dancing flowed. But there was something to be said for technical excellence and classical training. Judy’s routine would knock their eyes out.

There was scattered applause as Susan finished. Cameron’s “Thanks. We’ll call you,” for once sounded sincere.

While Cameron, Blinstraub, and three other men tabulated Susan’s score, Judy tried to psych herself out of shivering. Finally, the same bored male voice called, “Okay; we’re ready for you, Judy.”

That’s what they thought.

Judy bounded onstage to a crashing chord. She writhed around a pole, working her way to the floor much like a hypnotic serpent. She was all over the stage with impossible leaps and unexpected hesitations.

She was playing directly to Jake Cameron, and she was easily as seductive as Salome. All that remained was to determine whose head she wanted. Cameron wasn’t quite ready to offer her half his kingdom, but he was inclined to be most generous. Seldom if ever had such an accomplished talent auditioned as a go-go dancer.

Judy’s impressive finale elicited uniquely universal applause. Smiling, she stood stock-still, absorbing the adulation. No “Thanks. We’ll call you.” Instead, Cameron, followed by the other men, left his chair and moved to the stage, still applauding. Judy blushed.

The blush was definitely unexpected. Cameron recalled her resume. She was eighteen. Just a kid. That explained her embarrassment. Would the customers find that sort of reaction a turn-on? Cameron didn’t know; he’d never seen an act like hers on a stage like this.

One thing was clear: She had a lot to learn. And he knew who her teacher would be.

Finally, Cameron motioned; the other men retreated, leaving him with Judy. “That was something! Where’d you got a routine like that?”

“It’s mine. I created it. But I’ve had some training.”

“You’re gonna knock ’em dead with that act.”

“Oh,” she said cheerfully, “there’s lots more where that came from. Does this mean I get the job?”

Cameron laughed heartily. “Yeah, I think it does. We were planning on picking up five new girls. And you’re one through five. For now, go on back to the dressing room. I’ll send somebody in to work out a contract-all the legal stuff, our club’s rules and routines. Then a technician will work with you on lighting. The spot will have to follow you around the stage. With your moves, that ain’t gonna be easy. All this’ll take a while. So how about I take you out for dinner? Whad’ya say?”

It did consume most of the day. It took the lighting man almost twice the usual time to set up for Judy. She had so many moves that eventually he had to make cue cards for himself.

At nearly eight that evening, she was waiting outside Cameron’s office. He smiled as he took her arm. He smiled a lot that evening.

They went to the Whitney, a renovated mansion near Detroit’s cultural center. The Whitney ranked with the finest restaurants in the metropolitan area. Cameron had escorted many extremely attractive women there. He could not remember ever being especially proud of his companion as he was tonight. He wanted to show off Judy to everyone.

The other diners were dazzled. He could tell.

They made small talk through the meal. He contributed most. She asked questions.

Afterward, he drove her home. An apartment house in northwest Detroit. No place special, but Cameron knew that with what she would make, she would surely move up in the world. No limit.

She asked if he’d like to come in for coffee.

A latter-day Henry Higgins, he would remake this little lady. He smiled at her naivete; of course he was coming in.

The place was comfortably, if sparsely, furnished. There was a bedroom, so there would be no delay wrestling open a sofa bed.

She went into the kitchen and actually began making coffee. He smiled again.