Gene Wolfe - An Evil Guest

Brian Kean and Norma Peiper joined their voices to hers in the chorus. As the last note faded, Brian said, “We’ve been talking about you, Mariah, and your aunt Jane is — ”

At which point the applause began.

MARGARET recognized India’s knock and let her in.

“Congrats, Cassie. You were simply wonder-fuel. You set the damned place on fire.” An old wooden chair groaned beneath India’s weight.

Cassie handed Mariah’s long green gown to Margaret. “Congratulations to us all. Standing ovation? It doesn’t get much better than that.”

“Standing ovation for you when you came out to take your bow.”

“For us all, when we bowed at the end.”

“What did you think of our dear sailor?”

“Dean? He was all right.”

Margaret shook her head ever so slightly.

“His tenor isn’t what I was hoping for. His dancing isn’t what Pfeiffer was hoping for, either.”

“He’ll come around. Pfeiffer’s good, and...”

The telephone rang. Margaret answered it, and after a momentary silence handed it to Cassie. “I believe you had better talk to him, Miss Casey.”

Cassie said, “Hello?”

“This is Agent Martin, Ms. Casey. I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Ms. Casey. Really. We’ve been trying to catch up to you.”

“I’m afraid I can be difficult to reach. I’m sorry about that.”

“No offense, ma’am. We have an office at Third and Grand. I wonder if you could be there at ten tomorrow?”

Cassie took a deep breath. “No, Agent Martin. I couldn’t be. Not unless you tell me what it’s about.”

“Is there anyone there with you, Ms. Casey?”

“Our director and my dresser.”

“If they can overhear you, it might be better if you didn’t call me ‘agent.’ Better if you didn’t use my name, too.”

“All right, I won’t. But I’m not going to lie in bed tonight wondering what I’ve been accused of and who has accused me.” Another deep breath. “And I’m not coming to your office. Not voluntarily. If you want me down there, you’ll have to arrest me.”

“We will if we have to. I was hoping to have your cooperation as a good citizen.”

“I doubt that I am one, and I’m darned sure nobody’s going to think I am by the time you’re through with me.”

“Can I explain why I wanted you to come to our office?”

Cassie said, “Do it,” then covered the speaker with her free hand. “Will you wait, India? This could be important, but I’ll wind it up as fast as I can.”

India nodded.

Agent Martin was saying, “People don’t always believe us when we present our credentials. That happens often. I want you to come downtown so you can see for yourself that I’m who I say I am. I’ll still show you my badge and ID when we meet, even if you don’t.”

“Are you there now? In that office?”

“I am. Three of us are working late.”

“Something hot. I’ve got it.” Cassie hung up, and immediately dialed Directory Assistance, giving city and state. “I’d like the office of the FBI.”

Behind her, India stirred in her chair.

On her line, the phone rang once. “Agent Martin.”

“This is Cassie again. I believe you now.”

“Good. When can you meet with me?”

“I can’t.” Cassie’s grin was inward only. “You’ll have to catch me. I hear you’re good at that.”

She hung up. “Unplug it, will you, Margaret? He’s calling back. See if you can find the thing.”

“Yes, Miss Casey.” Margaret threw an anguished glance toward India and hurried to comply.

“The FBI wants you?” India asked.

“They want me to cooperate in an investigation. I didn’t ask what it was about because I wanted to talk to you. He probably wouldn’t have told me anyway.”

“I’d like to know.”

“You will, as soon as I do.” The chair in front of the dressing table was wire-backed, and rather too large for a doll’s house. Cassie sat, taking care not to miss the seat.

“Are you going to go along?” India sounded as worried as she looked.

“Depends. Maybe, if I like what he’s doing. Maybe even if I don’t like it, if he’s got some kind of an arm lock.”

“Tell me when you know. What I want to talk about... Cassie, my job’s to bring the rest of the cast up to your level.”

“You want the false humility?”

“Hell no. Here’s the straight shit. I can’t. Nobody could, not even if you helped. You dance like — I don’t know. Like you’d been starring with the Ballet Russe for the past three years. Dean stumbles around after you and looks ridiculous. I’ve had words with Pfeiffer already. He goes...” India shrugged and sighed like a vacuum cleaner. “So if you can do anything, please do.”

“I’ll try,” Cassie promised.

“That’s all I ask. Vince wants to ham it up. In his part that’s okay up to a point, but we’ve got to keep him on a short leash. You’re onstage and I’m not, so snarl at him anytime he gets out of control.”

“I’ll be your bitch, but I thought he was fine.”

“He was, tonight. He was maybe one-tenth as good as you were, and if I could get the rest up to that I’d be a happy broad. Only he’ll be worse tomorrow night if we let him.”

“Norma was fine, too.”

“Norma was lousy. She was nervous until you came on, and after that she couldn’t stop smiling. Aunt Jane smiles once during the whole stinkin’ show. Once!”

When India had gone, Margaret said softly, “It didn’t really stink, Miss Casey. It was good. Everybody loved it. You had to do all those encores.”

“Oh, did I? Tell me about it.” Cassie kicked off her dancing shoes. “I’m so tired I may pass out.”

“THERE are three critics here from New York tonight, Miss Casey. That’s what everybody says. The Times, The New Yorker , and Channel Something.” The gingham gown had been hung away as Margaret spoke. Cassie’s bra followed; it would be replaced by one that vanished at a distance of eight feet, save for plastic blossoms over her nipples.

Cassie said, “Full house. Did you notice?”

“I did, Miss Casey. Everybody did.”

“I keep looking for an empty seat down front. I haven’t seen one.”

“No, Miss Casey.”

“Body powder, Margaret. More body powder.” The skirt of faux grass hung low on Cassie’s hips, and as she studied it in the long mirror she found herself recalling something Margaret had told her while taking measurements. It left — how much? Ten inches of bare waist, Cassie decided. She turned to get a side view.

Onstage once more, she pulled Donny Duke out of the line of prancing sailors; they danced a wholly unrehearsed hornpipe to the deafening approval of the audience.

TWO days later, Margaret asked, “Were you expecting company, Miss Casey?”

“No, but company might be welcome.” Cassie was still radiant from her final bows. “Who is it?”

“He wouldn’t give his name, Miss Casey. He wouldn’t get out of your dressing room, either.”

Smiling, Cassie threw open the door; the man inside was a stranger, much taller than Gideon Chase.

He rose and took what appeared to be a black leather wallet from a pocket of his ash-striped gray suit coat. Flipped open, it revealed a gilt badge and a photo ID.

Striving to hide her disappointment, Cassie sat down. “Good evening, Agent Martin. Did you enjoy the show?”

“What I saw of it, yes.”

“That’s good. Well, you’ve caught me. What is it you want?”

“To speak to you in private.” The tall man glanced at Margaret.

“I have no secrets from my dresser, Agent Martin.”

“Maybe not, but I do. Let me make my position clear, Cassie.” He sat again. “I haven’t caught you in the sense of wanting to arrest you. I don’t. Just the same, I’ll arrest you if you make me. We need to speak privately. I can do that by putting the cuffs on you and taking you down to my car. After that we’ll drive to some nice quiet spot, and after that we’ll see.”