"Oh, I love that," Alice says. "Yes, play 'I Can't Get Started.' "
"Happy to oblige," Stan says in Henry Leyden's normal voice. Without bothering to jive around or spin the records on his hands, he simply exchanges the LP on the turntable for one from the first box. He seems oddly wilted as he steps to the mike and says, "I've flown around the world on a plane, I settled revolutions in Spain. Can't get started. Dedicated to the lovely Alice Blue Gown and the One Who Walks by Night."
"You're no better'n a monkey on a stick," says Burny.
The music begins. Rebecca taps Hermie on the arm and moves up alongside Charles Burnside, for whom she has never felt anything but mild revulsion. Now that she has him in focus, her outrage and disgust cause her to say, "Mr. Burnside, you are going to apologize to Alice and to our guest here. You're a crude, obnoxious bully, and after you apologize, I want you to get back into your room, where you belong."
Her words have no effect. Burnside's shoulders have slumped. He has a wide, sloppy grin on his face, and he is staring empty-eyed at nothing in particular. He looks too far gone to remember his own name, much less Bunny Berigan's. In any case, Alice Weathers has danced away, and Symphonic Stan, back at the far end of the platform and out of the pink spot, appears to be deep in thought. The elderly couples sway back and forth on the dance floor. Off to the side, Hermie Boettcher pantomimes dancing and quizzes her with a look.
"I'm sorry about that," she says to Stan/Henry.
"No need to apologize. 'I Can't Get Started' was my wife's favorite record. I've been thinking about her a lot, the past few days. Sort of took me by surprise." He runs a hand over his sleek hair and shakes out his arms, visibly getting back into his role.
Rebecca decides to leave him alone. In fact, she wants to leave everyone alone for a little while. Signaling regret and the press of duty to Hermie, she makes her way through the crowd and exits the common room. Somehow, old Burny has beaten her to the corridor. He shuffles absently toward Daisy wing, head drooping, feet scuffing the floor.
"Mr. Burnside," she says, "your act may fool everyone else, but I want you to know that it doesn't fool me."
Moving by increments, the old man turns around. First one foot shifts, then a knee, the spavined waist, the second foot, finally the cadaverous trunk. The ugly bloom of Burny's head droops on its thin stalk, offering Rebecca a view of his mottled scalp. His long nose protrudes like a warped rudder. With the same dreadful slowness, his head lifts to reveal muddy eyes and a slack mouth. A flash of sheer vindictiveness rises into the dull eyes, and the dead lips writhe.
Frightened, Rebecca takes an instinctive step backward. Burny's mouth has moved all the way into a horrible grin. Rebecca wants to escape, but anger at having been humiliated by this miserable jerk lets her hold her ground.
"Lady Magowan had a bad, bad nightmare," Burny informs her. He sounds drugged, or half asleep. "And Lady Sophie had a nightmare. Only hers was worse." He giggles. "The king was in his countinghouse, counting out his honeys. That's what Sophie saw when she fell asleep." His giggling rises in pitch, and he says something that might be "Mr. Munching." His lips flap, revealing yellow, irregular teeth, and his sunken face undergoes a subtle change. A new kind of intelligence seems to sharpen his features. "Does you know Mr. Munshun? Mr. Munshun and his li'l friend Gorg? Does you know what happened in Chicago?"
"Stop this right now, Mr. Burnside."
"Duz you know uff Fridz Haarman, him who wazz zo loff-ly? Dey called him, dey called him, dey called him 'da Vamp, Vamp, Vamp of Hanover,' yez dey dud, dud, dud. Evveybuddy, evveybuddy, evvey-buddy haz godz nide-marez all da dime, dime, dime, ha ha ho ho."
"Stop talking like that!" Rebecca shouts."You're not fooling me!"
For a moment, the new intelligence flares within Burny's dim eyes. It almost instantly retreats. He licks his lips and says, "Way-gup, Burn-Burn."
"Whatever," Rebecca says. "Dinner is downstairs at seven, if you want it. Go take a nap or something, will you?"
Burny gives her a peeved, murky look and plops a foot down on the floor, beginning the tedious process that will turn him around again. "You could write it down. Fritz Haarman. In Hanover." His mouth twists into a smile of unsettling slyness. "When the king comes here, maybe we can dance together."
"No, thanks." Rebecca turns her back on the old horror and clacks down the hallway on her high heels, uncomfortably aware of his eyes following her.