Phoenix Noir (24 page)
“We covered it up. We had no choice,” Minnie Thaxton explained. “It was one thing for one dope-fi end musician to shoot another. But the woman who was the symbol of Arizona civil rights? We just couldn’t give that kind of ammunition to the crackers.” She looked pleadingly at Monk. “We just couldn’t.”
Dr. Justine Mumford passed away peacefully two weeks later. Luminaries such as Jesse Jackson and former president Bill Clinton attended her august funeral. Several legal entanglements were hanging over Monk in Phoenix, but the prestigious law firm that represented Greater First Congregational was providing its services pro bono.
Ardmore Antony had a lot of unanswered questions, but the rights to his compilation were secured. The CD was eventually released, with extra tracks and updated liner notes, including recent remorseful quotes from Burris Parchman. The tragic story of Hayzell Mumford’s demise remained unaltered.
Nearly forty years after its original release, “Blazin’ on Broadway” by Hayzell and the Sugar Kings enjoyed a renewed run on the R&B charts.
T
he thing about Bob,” she said, and her fingers snapped the ties on Julie’s cocktail apron, “he’s so American. He’s so American.”
Julie nodded. It was good to see Brenda again, and she liked looking at her. She had a Clairol-girl face and silver-blond hair washed twice a day, but things were happening behind those glinting blue eyes and you could feel her winking at you all the time.
Julie looked across the lounge at the man in the beige denim shirt and slacks sitting on one of the low chairs and it was Bob Crane, just like switching a television channel.
“Look at his face,” Brenda was saying, and she slid her fingers under the sash on Julie’s apron and pulled her close, so she could hear her. “It’s so blank. It’s like a billboard.”
Julie didn’t know what Brenda meant, but this was how she always talked. Brenda liked to dance and she made the scene in Phoenix at Bogart’s, B.B. Singer’s, Chez Nous, Ivan-hoe’s, where she’d introduced herself to Bob. She was always meeting people and she said it was her special energy. You could like it or not, but Julie liked it.
“So let’s make it happen,” she was saying and she took Julie’s arm and they walked toward Bob Crane, their heads nearly bobbing together, matching blond locks to their waists and smiles popping. Bob was watching them, watching them and smiling, and what man in the Registry lounge wasn’t?
“Who’s the tomato?” Bob said as he rose. He was handsome and, old as he was, almost as old as someone’s dad, he didn’t look like a dad. The way he turned toward her, so casual, so knowing, like he’d been waiting for her.
When he looked at her, something sharpened in his eyes, sharpened into a spark, and then his face lit, like a camera flashing, and there he was, Bob Crane. He was giving her Bob.
“This is Julie Sue, Bob,” Brenda was saying. “She’s got tits you’d serve soft at Dairy Queen.”
Bob looked down at Julie’s chest in a funny, sly way, and she felt like Fräulein Helga. “Well, nothing wrong about that,” he said. “So, Julie Sue,” and he bent forward just slightly so she would know she was the only one he wanted to talk to, “are you going to be my friend?”
“Yeah, Bob,” Julie replied, and she could feel a tickle in her knees. This would be something. “I’m going to be your friend.”
She told them she had to work until close and Bob said she could meet up with them later. They’d be at the Safari coffee shop and then back to Bob’s place. He wrote his address on a napkin and gave it to her.
Brenda leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, “Do you think he can handle us?” Bob was looking at them and he folded his arms across his chest, just like on the show. Just like Colonel Bob Hogan. “He does that on purpose,” Brenda added, “it’s a gas.”
“What a picture you two make,” Bob said, grinning. “My blond babies.”
And she and Brenda leaned into each other, necks bent, heads touching, smiling tangerine lipsticked smiles.
“Like Siamese blondes,” he said, and he made a sound like laughing.
Carl came by an hour before close, a little high. He was drinking a screwdriver at the bar.
“Baby,” Julie said, “I have to break our date. Brenda came by. I’m meeting her for breakfast.”
Carl gave her a long look. “Brenda’s back,” he said, smiling a little. “Hey, that’s your scene, babe.”
“I’ll see you later,” Julie said, and Carl’s face looked so shiny. His mustache was slightly wet. She remembered it was the suit he wore when they met about seven months ago, at the Bombay Club. He sold synthesizers and wore those woven sandals, huaraches.
She watched him stir his drink with his finger and flick it dry. “Go with God, Julie Sue,” he said. “That chick is bad news.”
He turned and faced the bar. They’d partied at Brenda’s once and Brenda had read the tarot and told Carl that he was letting his hang-ups hold him back and that secrets were being kept from him. Later she told this story of how Linda Kasabian, the Manson girl, was her old babysitter. She said Linda read her cards once and told her she would die young, stabbed against a white wall. Everyone at the party freaked out a little and Carl said she was bad news.
“I like Brenda and I haven’t seen her in a while,” Julie said. Brenda was so much fun. And there was Bob Crane.
“Keep your head,” Carl advised, looking in the mirror above the bar. “You know what I’m saying.”
The Safari was one of her favorite places. Once she saw Angie Dickinson walk through the lobby in a white bikini. But the coffee shop was quiet that night and she didn’t see Brenda and Bob. “They were here, but they left,” the waitress said. “He’ll probably be back later.”
Julie looked at the napkin for Bob’s address, then decided to drive over to the Winfield Apartments.
On the way, she tried to remember the
Hogan’s Heroes
theme song. It kind of made you want to march. What was that thing the fat guy in the helmet always said on the show, “I hear nothing, I see nothing, I know nothing …”? She wondered if Bob was still friends with the
Family Feud
guy. Maybe he’d come to town too.
Brenda really knew how to make a scene. Julie’d met her by the pool at the Camelback Inn awhile back. Brenda was stomach-down on a deck chair, barelegged, wearing a Mott the Hoople T-shirt and sunglasses. Purple eye shadow smeared across one temple.
“Hey,” she’d said, twisting around to talk to Julie, cross-legged on a beach towel. “I know you.”
“I don’t think so,” Julie answered.
“No, no, man, I
know
you,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows. “You have freckles behind both knees.”
Julie smiled. “You just saw that when I was doing my back.” But she knew she hadn’t turned over yet.
“It was awhile ago,” Brenda said, grinning. “You had the sharpest tan lines. You had the swimsuit with the keyhole in the front.”
Julie didn’t say anything.
“You shouldn’t have let him do that,” Brenda said, and she shook her head.
“What?” Julie started, feeling dizzy, wondering if she had sunstroke. “What are you talking about?”
Brenda shrugged. “Maybe it wasn’t you.”
They’d gone swimming and then to one of the rooms where Brenda was staying with two musicians. They were high and they had a bottle of rum and Julie drank some. They told the girls to get in the shower together and they did. It was fun and Brenda was beautiful with that long twisting hair, and it’d been a good time. They got free tickets to the concert at Feyline Field.
The air conditioner was going. It was cool in the apartment and there was one floor lamp on and the television set.
“Join the party, Julie,” Brenda said. She was naked and her white dress was on the floor. Julie felt overdressed in her uniform, though it was so short she couldn’t bend over, even to reach behind the bar.
“Welcome to Casa Bob,” Bob said, standing up in his un-dershorts.
There was a buzzing sound. She thought it was the air unit, but it wasn’t. It was the camera running in the corner, on a big tripod.
“Look,” Brenda said, pointing to the television. “Bob’s on TV again.”
“I never left,” Bob said.
Julie glanced over at the television and it was Bob and Brenda having sex on the sofa. Brenda’s head was in Bob’s lap, her blond hair white on the screen and spread in all directions.
“Julie,” Brenda said, “Bob can help so you too can make it on the big screen. Or small screen.”
“Baby, I can make you a star,” Bob said, smiling at Julie.
“Can I have a drink?” Julie asked. She thought a drink would be a good idea.
“She likes Southern Comfort,” Brenda said, tucking her legs beneath her on the striped sofa.
“I’m sorry,” Bob said. “I just moved in and I don’t drink. But I want to make Julie happy. Someone brought me some Scotch at the theater. Do you like Scotch, Julie?”
“I like Scotch, Bob.”
He smiled again and said he was glad. “I like that place,” he added, talking about the Safari. “Did you ever roast cocktail weenies in that big charcoal fireplace?”
Julie grinned and drank her Scotch. Brenda was tugging at the back of her uniform, trying to drag the zipper down. Julie tried not to giggle. “Carl sure couldn’t handle this,” she said.
“I go there every night,” Bob said. “I like the coffee shop.”
Julie felt the cold air hit her shoulders and breasts. Brenda ran her hands down Julie’s stockings and hooked her fingers underneath to pull them off.
Julie peered at Bob, who was sitting on the arm of the sofa, wearing his glasses so he could look back and forth between the television and her.
She wondered why he wasn’t on TV anymore, and why he was here, like this. She hadn’t been to his play at the Windmill, but she bet it was terrific.
“You seem like a good person, Julie,” Bob said. And there was something in his eyes and it made Julie feel funny, even sad, and it must’ve been the Scotch, which sometimes brought her down.
“I am,” Julie said, as Brenda pulled the stockings from her feet. “I am a good person.”
“Bob,” Brenda asked, “would you like to see how good she is? Would you like to watch me? I can make her beautiful.” Brenda wrapped her arms around Julie’s stomach and nuzzled her neck.
“She’s already beautiful,” Bob said.
“I can make her more.”
“You can try.”
In the living room, when it was going down, Julie couldn’t stop looking around, couldn’t stop thinking, This is happening, wow, isn’t this a trip, Colonel Hogan himself, and she looked at the camera on its big tripod and the stack of cassettes in the corner, and she saw a leather jacket on the floor in the corner and she wondered if that was the jacket he wore on the show and wouldn’t she like to get into that, and her eyes caught her reflection on the TV screen and there she was and she saw herself and Bob Crane and she saw her eyes and they were startled. And she saw Brenda and Brenda was looking too. Brenda was staring and her dark eyes looked so big Julie thought they might swallow the screen.
They ended up in the bedroom. Bob walked behind her, putting his hand in her hair. They had sex on the bed. The buzzing in Julie’s ears was making her head hurt and the Scotch was making her dizzy. It seemed liked everything in the apartment was plugged in and running.
The room was dark and at one point it was just her and Bob and the light from the living room flashed on his face, above her. And it was that face, and she thought, it’s like getting it on with the slick cover of a
TV Guid
e. But it wasn’t really like that. It wasn’t like that and she couldn’t name it, but looking in his eyes, it was doing things to her. It felt like something had passed over between them. She was seeing something and it made her so sad, all of a sudden. She felt her face wet and she thought, I’m crying. I’m crying. Why am I crying?
Later she couldn’t be sure if it had happened.
After, she and Brenda went back into the living room. Brenda put her dress on and helped Julie zip her uniform back up.
They were giggling at first, and talking. It was like a slumber party, curled upon the sofa.