The maitre d’ bowed slightly and, raising his voice above the din of merriment, said, “Always a pleasure to have you both back.”
Adeline also shook hands.
“You’re looking particularly lovely tonight,” he said.
“Table for two,” said Dex and flashed a crisp twenty under the nose of Mondrian. “Something close to the dance floor.”
The plump man bowed again and in his ascent snatched the bill from Dex’s hand. “Follow me, my friends,” he said, and then turned and made his way slowly in amid the maze of tables and the milling crowd. As they moved through the packed house, Adeline waved hello to those who called her name, and when someone shouted to Dex, he winked, sighted them with his thumb, and pulled an invisible trigger. Mondrian found them a spot at the very front, just to the left of the stage. He pulled out and held Adeline’s chair, and once she was seated, he bowed.
“Two gin wrinkles,” said Dex, and in an instant the maitre d’ vanished back into the crowd.
Adeline retrieved two cigarettes from her purse and lit them on the small candle at the center of the table. Dex leaned over and she put one between his lips. She drew on the other.
“How does it feel to be back in action?” he asked her.
She smiled broadly, blew a stream of smoke, and nodded. “It always feels right, the first couple of hours on the loose. I’m not thinking about anything else at this moment,” she said.
“Good,” he said and removed his hat, setting it on the empty chair next to him.
The music stopped then and was replaced by the chatter and laughter of the crowd, the clink of glasses and silverware. Nabob jumped down from the band platform, hit the ground, and rolled forward to spring upright next to Dex.
“Dexter,” he said.
“Still sweating out the hits,” said Dex and laughed as he shook hands with the bandleader.
“Bobby, aren’t you gonna give me a kiss?” said Adeline.
“I’m just savoring the prospect,” he said and swept down to plant one on her lips. The kiss lasted for a while before Dex reached his leg around the table and kicked the performer in the ass. They all laughed as Nabob moved around the table and took a seat.
Folding his willowy arms in front of him, the bandleader leaned forward and shook his thin head. “You two out for the stars tonight?” he asked.
“And then some,” said Adeline.
“So fill me in,” said Dex.
“Well, same old same old as usual, you know. And Killheler’s been waiting for you to return.”
A waitress appeared with two gin wrinkles—liquid pink ice and the Garden’s own bathtub blend of gin. The glasses caught the light and revealed tiny bubbles rising from a fat red cherry. Dex slipped the young woman a five. She smiled at him before leaving the table.
“Fuck Killheffer,” said Dex, lifting his drink to touch glasses with Adeline.
“He’s been in here almost every night, sitting back in the corner, slapping beads on that abacus of his and jotting numbers in a book,” said Nabob.
“Killheffer’s solid fruitcake,” said Adeline.
“A strange fellow,” said Nabob, nodding. “One slow night a while back, and most nights are slow when you fine folks aren’t here, he bought me a drink and explained to me how the world is made of numbers. He said that when the stars fall it means everything is being divided by itself. Then he blew a smoke ring off one of his cigars. ‘Like that,’ he said and pointed at the center.”
“Did you get it?” asked Adeline.
Nabob laughed and shook his head. “Jim-Jim makes more sense.”
“If he shows that shit-eating grin in here tonight, I’ll fluff his cheeks,” said Dex.
Adeline took a drag of her cigarette and smiled. “Sounds like boy fun. I thought you were here to dance and drink.”
“I am, baby. I am,” said Dex and finished the rest of his wrinkle, grabbing the cherry stem between his teeth. When he brought the glass away, the fruit hung down in front of his mouth. Adeline leaned over, put one arm around his shoulder and her lips around the cherry. She ate it slowly, chewing with only her lips before it all became a long kiss.
When they finished, Nabob said, “You’re an artist, Miss Adeline.”
Dex ordered another round of wrinkles. They talked for a few minutes about the old days, distant memories of bright sun and blue skies.
“Break’s over,” said Nabob, quickly killing the rest of his drink. “You two be good.”
“Do ‘Name and Number,’” called Adeline as the bandleader bounded toward the stage. With a running start, he leaped into the air, did a somersault, and landed, kneeling next to his mic stand. He stood slowly, like a vine twining up a trellis.
Dex and Adeline applauded, as did the rest of the house when it saw the performer back onstage. The willowy singer danced with himself for a moment before grabbing the mic. The Ne’er-do-wells took their places and lifted their instruments.
“Mondrian, my good man. Turn that gas wheel and lower the lights,” said Nabob, his voice echoing through the garden and out into the desert.
A moment later the flames of the candles in the center of each table went dimmer by half. “Ooooh,” said Nabob and the crowd applauded.
“Lower,” he called to the maitre d’.
Mondrian complied. Whistles and catcalls rose out of the dull amber glow of the Ice Garden. The baritone sax hit a note so low it was like a tumbleweed blowing in off the desert. Then the strings came up, there was a flourish of piccolo and three sliding notes from Nabob’s chrome T-bone. He brought the mouthpiece away, snapped his fingers to the music, and sang:
“My dear, you tear my heart asunder
When I look up your name and number
Right there in that open book
My flesh begins to cook
It’s all sweetness mixed with dread
And then you close your legs around my head
As I look up your name and number…”
As Nabob dipped into the second verse, Dex rose and held his hand out to Adeline. He guided her through the darkness to the sea of swaying couples. They clutched each other desperately, legs between legs, lips locked, slowly turning through the dark. Within the deep pool of dancers there were currents of movement that could not be denied. They let themselves be drawn by the inevitable flow as the music played on.
When the song ended, Adeline said, “I have to hit the powder room.”
They left the dance floor as the lights came up and walked toward the huge structure that held the casino, the gaming rooms, the pleasure parlors of the Ice Garden. Three stories tall, in the style of a Venetian palace, it was a monster of shadows with moonlight in its eyes. At the portico that led inside, Dex handed her a twenty and said, “I’ll see you back at the table.”