They carried the shell of the moon to the nearby lake and pushed it in. It bobbled about in the water before sinking. It looked like a reflection of the real moon.
Jimmy went back to the hotel feeling miserable. Rose hadn’t come with the moon. He hadn’t seen her in days. In the evenings there were usually gangsters in Jimmy’s room. There was a huge ballroom downstairs, but people always liked to be wherever Jimmy was. They would crowd into his tiny room. There would be six or seven gangsters sitting on the side of the bed. There would be one sitting in the cushion of the armchair and one on the arm of the chair. There would be a gangster leaning up against the bureau and one checking himself out in the bathroom mirror. But in this case, he wanted to be all alone. His white carnation boutonniere looked like a crumpled-up love poem.
? ? ?
OVER AT THE HONEYMOON HOTEL, Fabio was sitting in his room, shirtless and hunched, like bread dough that had yet to be beaten into shape. The show had closed and the moon had been delivered. McMahon would be waiting for word of Rose’s execution. If McMahon didn’t hear that Rose was dead, and soon, he would be sending his men down to start a war. Or Jimmy might change his mind and kill her himself.
So for days Fabio had been trying to get Rose to pack up the troupe and head back on the train to Montreal.
But Rose never looked as though she had any intention of leaving. Every time he went to her room, he could see that her clothes were sprawled everywhere—over couches and chairs. She had a half-eaten cupcake on her boudoir table, as she hadn’t even bothered to let one of the maids come in to clean up the mess.
She didn’t appear to have bathed either. She sat in a dirty slip, her hair greasy and sticking up. She had been afflicted by guilt. She was going to give up the entire project just so that she could devote her life to sitting in a hotel room, feeling guilty about having chased Pierrot away.
That morning, just to be dutiful, Fabio had checked in on Rose. He had opened the door and saw that she was sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to him, looking toward the window.
“Any word from Pierrot?” he had asked.
Rose hadn’t had to turn to know it was Fabio who had poked his head into her room. She knew his cigar-scarred voice.
“Maybe he doesn’t know we’re leaving,” Rose had answered faintly. “He might not have heard that the show was canceled. I’m sure he went to the zoo.”
“Are you out of your mind? Nobody goes to the zoo for five days. I’ve had people go there looking for him. He isn’t there.”
“So?”
“Well, what do you believe happened to him? Do you imagine that he got eaten alive by a polar bear?”
“Get out of here!” Rose had screamed.
She’d stood up, spinning around, and picked up an ashtray and flung it at his head. He’d slammed the door just in time.
? ? ?
FABIO PUT ON A SHIRT when he heard a knock at the door. He hoped it was Rose, coming to apologize for her behavior. He opened it to instead discover a timid-looking maid with extraordinarily plump pink lips, dressed in a black uniform.
“I have an envelope that I’m supposed to deliver to Rose’s room.”
“Well, this isn’t Rose’s room, is it?”
“It’s because, sir, well, last time I went to Mrs. Rose’s room, she threw a cupcake right at my head, you see.”
Fabio held out his hand. The maid handed him the brown kraft envelope and then darted off, clearly relieved to be free of it.
Fabio was nervous about the mysterious envelope. He didn’t know who it was from. He felt ill at ease as he shuffled down the corridor to Rose’s room to deliver the letter. He stood bent over, catching his breath at the elevator.
Fabio knocked on Rose’s door and opened it. He slipped in like a cat and discovered Rose lying on the bed, reading a paperback book. She looked up from it. “You’re back,” Rose said. “What can you want now?”
“I’ve this for you. Should I open it myself?”
“No, let me see what it is.”
Using a five-dollar bill as a bookmark, Rose gently put the book aside. She got up off the bed and took the envelope. The flap was tied with a piece of string, so she only had to pull at it to open the envelope. She walked over to the window as she pulled out the contents, a stack of large, glossy photographs. She whipped through them maniacally, then shoved them back in the envelope, holding it up against her chest. She went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her, only to step out a few seconds later looking deranged.
“He’s been with another woman. He cheated on me. He wants to break me so that I won’t be able to work. He wants me to go and find him and beg him to come back. It’s not going to happen. Because I don’t care about him. I don’t give a shit about Pierrot. I wish that skinny fucker was dead. I really do!”