“Why can’t little girls dress like little girls? Do we have to sexualize them practically from the moment they get out of diapers?”
“It’s the whole ‘Britney Spears/Christina Aguilara’ influence,” I tell her. “A lot of girls want to be like them.”
“Another reason for me to hate Christina Aguilara,” I hear a women’s voice with a distinct Scottish burr say. I turn around and see Lorna McManus join us. She’s wearing sandals, black jeans, and a cherry red top that matches her pert lips and hair.
“Apparently a lot of adults want to be like Britney and Christina too,” Jeanette says referring to Jane to Loora. “Not that it bothers me. But if I knew pre-teens were going to be here, I would’ve thought wearing something more modest.”
“You mean like a thong underneath your dress?” I telepathically hear Lorna say in response to Jeanette–but not out loud. Lorna doesn’t want to start any fights this morning so she decides to smirk and hold her tongue.
“Oh, I was going to ask you if you’ve seen my big red purse,” Jeanette says abruptly changing the subject. “There’s not much money in it but my make-up is. I couldn’t put any on this morning. You can’t tell, can you?”
“You look fine,” Lorna says, “and I haven’t seen your purse.”
“I haven’t seen it either,” I say. “Have you looked in the lounge?”
“That was the first place I looked but it wasn’t there,” Jeanette answers.
“We’ll look around,” Lorna tells her as she walks backstage ostensibly to discuss the arrangement for her performance. I also leave Jeanette because I have something important to discuss with Fred and Mr. Sharp back in the lounge–i.e., the whereabout of Red Nicholas.
When I get there, Mr. Sharp and Fred are talking and sitting at the table.
“Is Red still here?” I inquire.
“Yes,” says Fred. “We just talked with Artie and Mike and they told us that except for some trips to the bathroom, Red’s been in the manager’s office all night. He’s been doing nothing but sleeping, reading old newspapers, and watching TV.”
“Has he been by himself?”
“No. Artie, Mike, and Andrew all made sure that at least one of them was in the room with Red at all times. The only time Red was left by himself was when he went to the bathroom and that was after the boys checked it out to see if there was any way he could slip out.”
“Who’s with him now?”
“Andrew is just wrapping up his shift with Red,” Mr. Sharp says. “He’ll be meeting us here in the lounge any minute now.”
At that second, the figure of Andrew Sharp walks through the door. He seems to carrying a red bag of some sort.
“Morning everyone!” he says as he approaches the table and sits down. “Man, spending the last few hours talking with Red Nicholas is one of the most intense experiences I’ve had in my life. You wouldn’t believe the stories he told me.”
As he says this, I immediately notice something odd about Andrew. Within a second, I pinpoint what it is: he’s wearing make-up. His eyelids are adorned with thick eyeliner; he’s wearing so much purple eyeshadow that he looks like a narcoleptic junkie raccoon; his cheeks are caked with ruddy red rouge; the rest of his face his white with powder; and, finally, what looks like a whole applicator’s worth of red lipstick is awkwardly applied to his lips.
“Oh, give this back to Jeanette,” he says placing Jeanette’s red purse on the table. “I found it in the lounge last night.”
A deadpan Mr. Sharp asks, “Andrew, is there something you want to say about yourself?”
“Uh … no,” he responds apparently oblivious to what his face looks like. "I’m just really tired after spending last night with Red. But there’s something I have to do right away. Can I see the financial section of today’s pap–
“I would recommend going light on the Mary Kay,” Fred says.
“Yes and you can’t carry off purple either,” I add.
“What do you mean?” Andrew says cluelessly. Then, it dawns on him what we’re referring to.
“Oh … the make-up!” he states. “That’s part of a deal I made with Red.”
“You lose a bet?” Mr. Sharp asks.
“No, we weren’t betting on anything,” Andrew explains. “Last night I just noticed Red had these solid gold coins he carried up with him from the sub-basement. He told me he always carried at least a few gold pieces with him so he’d always have something to exchange for whatever currency he needed at the time. Anyway, Red noticed I found Jeanette’s purse and, after I told him that her make-up was in there, he made me offer: he would give me five gold coins if I agreed to use the make-up in Jeanette’s purse to paint my face up like ‘a cheap old whore’s’ and wear it like that for the rest of the day. He emphasized that I couldn’t just hide out in the Morpheus all day. I had to go to a bank or someplace that bought and sold precious metals and try to exchange the coins for money. If I didn’t do this by day’s end, I had to give the coins back. That’s why I wanted the financial section of the paper. I need to know what the price of gold is per ounce today.”
“Here’s the paper,” I say as I hand it to Andrew who withdraws to a corner to find out what gold is selling for today.
“Red’s up to his old tricks,” Fred comments.
“Yes, but this one’s pretty mild,” a familiar voice says. It’s Salbert. He’s been listening in on our conversation with Andrew.
“You mean Red used to do stuff like this before?” I ask.
“Yes, it was one of his hobbies,” Salbert explains. “Red basically believes that you can get any person to do anything–no matter how humiliating or debasing–if the price is right.”
“The Magic Christian” I say. “It was a book by Terry Southern and than a movie with Peter Sellers as a billionaire who goes around trying to get people to do anything for money.”
“That’s pretty much the same idea. Except, Red would always go incognito when did this. Some of the stunts he pulled were legendary. In fact, are you familiar with the Mark Twain story 'The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg?”"
“I read it in high school but I don’t remember too much about it off-hand. I think it involved some stranger leaving a sack of money with a small town bank clerk with corruption ensuing.”
“Well, read it again if you have the chance. Anyway, Mark Twain’s story was supposedly heavily based on a stunt Red pulled on a devoutly religious small town in Oregon in the 1870’s–with some artistic license of course.”
“Really?” Mr. Sharp says. “What else did Red do?”
“You have no idea,” Fred sighs. “That’s why it’s important that we keep Red contained.”
“I can tell you another story that might have some bearing on the Morpheus,” Salbert states. "One time…
We applaud.