She opened her coat to reveal her completely naked body underneath. He wasn’t expecting that. The stretched lining of the coat made her look so skinny, a streak of lightning in a big black sky. She let her coat close and reached into her pocket for a long pipe with a glass bowl.
She lit up her pipe. Pierrot looked around. It was odd to light a glass pipe like that out in the open. The smoke swirled around, not like a dragon, as the drug was fancifully called on the street, but more like a tiny newt.
A light flashed at the corner of Pierrot’s eye. A man across the street with a camera was taking photos of them. He recognized the checkered rain hat. It was the same private investigator he had tried to pay to find Rose. Here he was again: he was following Pierrot! He popped up right after these lovely ladies tried to have sex with him. It was a setup! Brilliant! He realized that, of course, McMahon had hired him. He was the only person they knew who had money to afford this type of absurd luxury.
“Who do you work for?” Pierrot asked, wanting to make sure.
“Why do you think I work for anybody? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m flabbergasted. Est-ce que c’est le bon mot?”
“Can I ask one question?”
“Oui, mais . . . just one.”
“Is he, like, a really powerful black-haired mafia guy who runs the Roxy downtown?”
“Yes. But I won’t say anything else.”
As Pierrot walked home, reviewing what had just happened, he decided not to tell Rose. She lost her temper so easily these days, especially with the pressure of putting the show together. And since McMahon had visited, she seemed ready to kill someone at the drop of a hat.
As Pierrot was walking up the stairs he heard Rose yelling, “I’ll wring your neck, you lousy bastard! I’ll teach you to come up against a woman!”
He flung open the door to find her in the kitchen, struggling with a jar of jam. No, he would not upset Rose further.
? ? ?
MCMAHON HIRED a girl named Colombe to seduce Pierrot. She was the girl who worked in the brothels and most resembled Rose. She had the same build and the same short, dark hair. But the thing that most distinguished Colombe from Rose was the expression on her face. She always looked disgusted. She pouted and complained about everything. Her main topic of conversation was how she couldn’t stand other women. She thought she was better at making love than any of the other whores.
McMahon had the madam smack Colombe across the face so that she looked like a victim and Rose would take her in. She showed up at the door of the theater wearing a raggedy old blue dress, holding a suitcase.
When Pierrot went to the bathroom, Colombe was standing there, wearing black-and-white-striped stockings and black high heels. She had on black lingerie that ended above her crotch. He could see her tuft of pubic hair and the bottom of her ass cheeks underneath it.
“Take me like a beast, mister. Degrade me. You teach me how I want it, daddy.”
Pierrot sighed and walked out of the bathroom. Pierrot had by now became accustomed to women showing up out of the blue and propositioning him. He knew McMahon was sending them. They didn’t want to be taken for a hamburger or a movie, or to meet any of his friends. They just wanted to go straight to bed. When he was a boy, he had often fantasized about such a scenario, where he lived in a city filled with nymphomaniacs who ran around on the street wearing coats with nothing underneath and offering him money or whole chickens if he would just have sex with them and end their misery. But he realized now that the fantasy was a depressing reality.
As he was walking away Pierrot turned around and called back to Colombe, “Hey, you wouldn’t be able to carry a tune, per chance?”
He was desperate to find singers. Colombe ended up having a pretty singing voice, and Pierrot offered her a solo.
“What do you want from me?” Colombe asked McMahon. “Those two are in love. He’s in love with Rose. He thinks she’s perfect. She sort of is too. I’m going to New York City with them. I’m done here.”
54
THE ARRIVAL OF A TRAIN
McMahon came to see Rose before she left for New York City. He inspected the papier-maché moon in the corner of the warehouse. “Well, you pulled the moon right out of the sky. You didn’t think the rest of us wanted to look at it?” McMahon smiled, seemingly trying to make peace. She didn’t laugh, however. She stared at him. McMahon abruptly took the friendly look off his face.
“Jimmy is going to come closing night,” McMahon continued. “They are going to take the moon in a truck down to the riverbank, where they can open it. Go with them to oversee. I’ve never liked the guy. He’s always had this arrogant way about him. Like, the minute you walk out the door, he starts laughing at you. He doesn’t like Quebecers. He thinks we’re beneath him.”
Rose shrugged. She had been given so many reasons to look down on herself that she couldn’t be bothered considering any more. Being a Quebecer was the least of her worries.