There was a pause. Oh, well, we tried. The Four Seasons it is! Then, the door opened all the way, and I saw a flash of purple as someone--presumably Spooner--stepped back to let us in. Jack’s hand slid down to the small of my back, giving me a momentary shiver, interrupted by a small but firm shove over the threshold.
I’d thought the room was dark, but it wasn’t completely unlit. Dim bulbs shone weakly behind fringed shades on brass lamps. I could make out a leather sofa and some chairs, and a wall of books. It looked like a cross between a speakeasy and the private library in a Dashell Hammett novel.
“Nice threads.”
I turned, and finally got a good look at Spooner. I managed not to gape.
Tall--very tall--and rail thin, Spooner looked like a walking time-capsule from 1977. From the tip of his platform shoes to the top of his afro--which had to add another four inches to his already considerable height, everything screamed “Saturday Night Fever.” Including the tiny gold spoon that dangled at the throat of his open shirt. He could not have been more at odds with the room if he’d been a giraffe. Which he kind of resembled, actually.
“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.” Jack returned his arm to my shoulder planted a kiss on the side of my face, just above the cheekbone. I wanted to grimace--that, or turn toward him and tilt my chin so that his lips landed... No, Beth. Keep your mind on...what? On whatever the hell’s going on here. “Spooner, this is Beth,” Jack went on. “Beth, Spooner.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, automatically, and held out a hand. Spooner looked at it as if I was offering him a rattlesnake.
“What, you pick her up hitchhiking or something?” He said, scorn dripping.
I realized the first flaw in Jack’s plan--one of many, no doubt, but the first one I’d had time to trip over so far--our outfits were impossibly mismatched.
“I--I just came from work,” I said. It was true, after all.
“Beth’s my girlfriend,” Jack inserted smoothly. “When I showed up to pick her up, she didn’t have time to change.”
Spooner snorted. “I guess you didn’t, either.” He turned away from us and walked toward the back of the room, headed for what I could now see was a bar. More lights glowed feebly through the glass globes of wall sconces, their meager illumination glancing off bottles of dark liquor. I wondered if there were any bulbs over fifteen watts in the place.
“I had a thing,” Jack said. He gave me a warning look, but he needn’t have bothered.
“Oh, I know all about it.” From under the bar, Spooner retrieved a newspaper, which he dropped on the dark wood. Even in the gloom, I recognized the picture on the front page of the Announcements section--I’d looked at it myself, this morning. I could also see the headline: DiNardo/Angelini.
Angelini?
“According to this, you’re supposed to be at your wedding, oh, right about...” Spooner pushed back a shiny cuff to reveal and even shinier watch. “Now.”
Jack shrugged. “Yeah, about that. What can I say? I came to my senses.” He pulled me closer and said. “Bethie here’s the only girl for me.”
Bethie? Ew.
“You’re gonna come to more than that if you left Joey the Worm’s little girl at the altar.” Spooner took down a bottle and two glasses. He poured a little of the brown liquid--brandy, it smelled like--into each and pushed one in front of Jack. He kept the other for himself.
Hellooo. I’m right here.
“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” said Jack. “Beth and me, we need to lay low for a couple of days. Until things cool off. I was hoping maybe we could stay upstairs.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” Spooner came back around the bar and dropped into one of the leather chairs. Jack led me toward the sofa and I sat down next to him. “You and Bethie...” Spooner pointed at me with a long, brown finger and continued, “Will just make yourselves comfortable eight feet directly above where I’m trying to make a living. Jesus, Jack, half my customers either work for The Worm or do business with him.”
Business? This place was a business? Even now that my eyes had adjusted to the gloom, I didn’t see any signs of commercial enterprise--no cash register, and no merchandise, either, other than the few bottles of liquor.
“Spooner, you owe me.”
“Not that much, I don’t. Not enough to make an enemy out of Joey the Worm.”
“Look Spoon--” Jack was obviously ready to argue, but I interrupted. I’d been blindsided by the strange surroundings, by Spooner, and by Jack’s general yumminess. It was time to quit letting him pull me around like a rag doll and take action. I stood up and took a quick step away from Jack, who reached up as if he was going to pull me back down on the sofa. I had a moment of satisfaction when his hand caught only air.
“He’s right, Jack. We really can’t impose. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Spooner, but we really must be going. I’ll just--”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I jumped at the sound of someone hammering on the door, hard enough to rattle the glasses behind the bar.