I was speechless, seeing Zelda's clay ball in a million pieces and Dana's horrified expression. I said I was sorry, I really was. Her jaw dropped and dropped. I said again I was so sorry, incredibly so, and I began picking up some broken pieces of clay, feeling doubly anxious because any message from Zelda inscribed by means of her weird hieroglyphs would never be deciphered, and because Dana suddenly seized me by my neck, and squeezed, and gave me a long, deep, unimaginably delicious French kiss. I was amazed, as you can imagine, and when she finally released me I collapsed like a sack of cucumbers, on my ass, on her hardwood floor among Zelda's ball's remains and her baby doll, which I picked up and examined once again: a baby girl doll, I observed.
And as I was searching her doll for clues, more hieroglyphics, any sign of where she could be or why she was hiding, God damn her eyes, Dana's door was kicked open and in comes Bob.
I said, "Bob?"
He screamed, "Where's her doll? Give!"
I said, "Huh?" I had hid her behind my back. "A doll? I have no idea--"
"My dear Louis," he said, smiling like a wolf, "do you really suppose you can slip one over me?"
"Slip one over you, Bob?" I said, smiling sheepishly.
He dropped his smile and approached me. He grabbed me by my lapels, shook me hard, and demanded I show him my hands. I refused, and we began a merry-go-round: me walking backwards and him walking forward in a circle around Dana's office. Finally he grabbed hold of my hand and saw Zelda's doll. "Give me!" he said, and he wrenched her from my hand.
I said, "Bob, please, you said we should all--"
He was gone before I could finish pleading, and Dana, who had observed us so far, how should I say, avec insouciance, smoking a slim cigar, now cried like a fiend from hell, "Go grab Zelda's doll back, you fucking honky!"
I ran. I pursued Bob, and grabbed hold of him around Broadway. We scuffled. I kicked him in his balls; he punched me in my nose. I hollered bloody murder; he coughed, discharged hunks of bloody phlegm. I demanded, "Give her back!"; he responded, "Fuck you, Jack!" I said. "My name is Louis!"; he punched my nose again. I punched him back, kicked him in his shins. Finally he dropped Zelda's doll, which I seized. And as I did so, I saw Dan emerge from Bob's car, holding his gun, charging forward. I ran for my life, you should have seen me, like a puma, Zelda's baby doll safely in my grasp. I ran down Broadway and hopped on a cab.
I had no idea where I was going. Losing Bob and Dan was could focus on. I said, "Eleven Broadway." My cab driver seemed perplexed. I said, "Go down Broadway as far as you can. Very simple." He drove and I looked back. No sign of Bob and Dan. I was sure I had broken loose. However, a few seconds passed and I saw Bob's car behind us. I was a moron, I realized. I should zigzag my way down. So I said, "Hey, I changed my mind," and gave him an address in Queens so he should abandon Broadway as quickly as possible. Bob and Dan remained close for many blocks, however, and so I gave my cabbie new addresses, now in Brooklyn, now back in Queens, now back in Brooklyn, now in Greenwich Village. In due course, where and when precisely I have no idea, Bob and Dan disappeared from view, and I was dropped off near a Holiday Inn on Second Avenue.
I procured myself a single room under a false name, Jeremiah Barrymore of New Bedford, Indiana. I was pooped. I climbed on my king-size bed and fell asleep. How did I sleep? Horribly. I had a horrible dream, which ran as follows: I'm in some dingy bar full of sailors and criminals. I'm minding my own business, drinking my whiskey, when an immense, bald Frenchman grabs me by my plump neck and says I owe him $100 for goods and services rendered. Which goods and services I have no idea, nor does he explain. I produce my billfold and begin adding up his $100 in five-dollar bills. For some reason, I keep bungling my numbers and beginning all over again, and my huge bald aggressor grows angrier and angrier, and finally seizes my billfold, adds up our agreed-upon $100 himself, and keeps his share of my money--only he keeps more, way more; he keeps $900, and I say so, and I demand my money back. He says okay; however, we should do "ou âne maure à digne happe oeuf de monnaie, ensemble." I say fine, and we begin adding up my five dollar bills again, only we never agree when precisely we have reached his hundred-dollar mark; he keeps keeping much, much more, now $105, now $400, now $705, a charade which ends only when I hear a loud knock, so loud I wake up.
Banging, banging. I made no move, hoping I was dreaming even now, because even my huge bald Frenchman seemed like a pique-nique dans le parc when I considered all Bob would do if he grabbed me by my plump neck. I seized Zelda's doll, placed her under my bedspread and asked who was knocking please. No answer, only more banging, which suddenly ended, and was followed by lock picking, and finally, my door was forced open. In came a man in a green blazer and green glasses, holding a gun, and behind him a girl in a page hairdo, smoking.
He said, "I know you have her doll."
I said, "Huh? A doll? Who are you?"
He said, "Give us her doll, my friend, or I'll plug your face full of lead."
"You're looking for someone else," I said. "I never heard of any doll, I promise you."
"You're full of crap, Louis," he said. "You know who we are, and we know who you are."
I shook my head. I had no idea who he was or who she was or how he knew my name.
"Well?" he said. "Where's her doll? I'll fucking kill you."
How did I summon such courage? Zelda's doll had a magical influence on people, I believe. I decided I would never give her up. And I had a hunch my friend and his girl and gun were bluffing, unloaded. I said, "Leave me alone." And I produced my cell phone, by way of showing him and his gun and his girl I was serious and could call whomever I desired, for example, 911.
Now his girl, who I should add was gorgeous beyond belief, began moving forward, a slow, snakelike progress.
"Go away," I said. I was, I should add, naked under my bedcovers.
She placed one hand on my head, while her second hand slid under my bedcovers and seized my doll. I was so shocked by her nimble move, I was incapable of grabbing Zelda's doll back. She winked, gave me a weird look, which reminded me of Dana's look earlier, a look full of furious feminine hunger. She walked back, slowly, and I could see her guy becoming aroused, his eyes growing wide and wild, his green glasses quivering, his gun drooping. She came close, closer, grabbed him by his slim neck and squeezed, and gave him a long generous kiss in his gaping maw. Kiss done, she dropped him and said, "You're job's done, Billy. You can go now." Billy looked like he was deaf and dumb. He now saw she had his gun. "Go," she said again. He shook his head, which received a powerful whack from his own gun and began bleeding. As soon as he perceived his own blood running down his forehead and cheeks, he gave a piercing shriek, like a queasy girl, and fled.
She locked my door and said, "I guess we're alone now, Louis."
"How do you guys know me?" I said. "Who are you?"
"You're famous," she said.
"Where's Zelda?" I said.
"You should know," she said.
"Give me her doll," I said.
She smiled roguishly and said, "Make me."
"Who are you?" I said.
"I like you," she said.
"Huh?" I said.
"You're adorable," she said. "You're going bald, like Billy. I find balding men awfully sexy."
"Huh?" I said. Zelda's doll, I was now convinced, had aphrodisiacal powers. "Can you please give me back my doll?"
Casual as you please, she began undressing. Her purple high-heeled shoes came off, her mauve silk dress, her bloomers, her camisole, her brassiere, her earrings, her bangles, her diamond necklace, her gun. All I could do was gape. I remind you I was naked under my bedcovers. Her skin was milky, her bosoms small and freckled, her nipples pale, invisible, her hips narrow like a boy's, and her pubic hair shaved. Well, well. Fully naked, she looked much less gorgeous. I was no longer aroused. I jumped from my bed, naked as I was, and approached her. I gave her a long generous kiss, and grabbed Zelda's doll.
"Hey!" she cried, all business now, "give her back."
"No," I said. "She's mine."
She jumped on me, and we began grappling and groping like animals, each gripping our small baby-shaped figure for dear life, and being naked, do you suppose we could avoid making love? I'm only human. In brief: a long and savage coupling, each of us groaning and bellowing like a buffalo, each of us gripping Zelda's doll, which, as I climaxed, as she climaxed, flew from my hand, from her hand, fell on my bedroom desk, bounced on my bedroom floor, and broke.
