Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

 

43 - TAKEN FOR A RIDE

The driver closed the door and we each settled into the plush leather, and I took a moment to examine Mr. Jones real careful.  His small, weasely features somehow fit his slight frame, and his thinning white hair and dark suit made a real impression.  A vague, but somehow familiar, impression.

Mr. Jones looked directly into my eyes, “You may not remember me, but I’m….”

“Daddy?”

“Kid, not even your Ma knew who that was.  But you might remember me from when your Ma was performing back in the day, and she’d be out on the stage while we’d be in the back, you bouncing on my knee playing puppets.  Remember?  You used to call me….”

“Uncle Roy!  Now I remember,” my eyes misted with this recovered memory.  “You’re my funny uncle, Uncle Roy, my most favorite uncle of ‘em all.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“You used to call me Uncle Roy back when I was your Ma’s business agent.  I didn’t think you’d remember me at Squeel’s office, but I also knew you’d be distracted and not expecting to see an old family friend from the past.”  He softly squeezed my knee.

Uncle Roy talked in a real familiar way as he continued to fill me in on the details of his connections to my family.

“Kid, back when your Ma was licensed to dance in Nevada under the professional name Cha-Cha Kartone, I happened to introduce her backstage to an old business associate of mine named Johnny Harmonica.  They hit it off right away and, well, long story short, I was out of a job.  So your Ma graciously offered my services to your Great-Grandma, and your Great-Grandma was happy to have me manage her career.”

Uncle Roy pinched my arm, “As you might guess, Fanny Kartone didn’t need an agent, but I was handsomely paid to continue the illusion of her stardom.  I took care of business for her, like handling any unpleasant matters, like when I had some guys from Jersey take care of the guys who bumped off Cha-Cha and Johnny.”

“What?”

“Your Ma and Johnny didn’t just die peacefully in a simple boat disaster.  That was just a cover story.  It was a mob hit.”

My eyes moistened at the thought of my Mama being wiped out in a hit.

“Kid, you can be proud how your Ma died,” Uncle Roy massaged my shoulders in sympathy, “just like you can be proud how your Great-Grandma asked me to settle the score.”  He was now firmly rubbing my lower back.

“Fanny had me also see to it that your little sister was looked after.”

My eyes moistened even more, “I have a little sister?”

“Yeah, sure, your little sister.”  Roy leaned in real close to my face, beady eyes narrowing, “Fanny told you about her, right?”

“You know, I’d almost forgot, she did say something about that.”

As we cruised through urban Ulele, I retreated from the concerned caresses generously laid on me by Uncle Roy and I tried to focus.  Before I had much success focusing, the car rolled to a stop in front of a plain gray office building.  Uncle Roy gave my knee another reassuring pat.

The chauffeur came around and opened the car door.  The three of us piled out into a parking lot so clogged with sunning piss-lizards we practically had to Mexican hat dance our way to the front door.

Once we got to the building’s entrance Uncle Roy unlocked the door and ushered us into a strangely chilly lobby.  He softly brushed up against me, and I felt a warm touch as he nudged my thigh.  We boarded a metal elevator that looked like a birdcage and I watched him yank the lever down till it pointed to a sign that said Penthouse.  With a sudden jerk we began to start moving up.  (I’m not sure, but I think someone tried to grab my wallet, or at least, that’s what I prefer to think.)

“Kid, you may not appreciate how hard Fanny worked for her money,” Uncle Roy pressed me into a corner.  “And she firmly believed everybody else should work hard for it, too.  That’s why she had her twin girls take up careers in dancing.  Oh sure, some folks might not understand how a loving mother could push her daughters into a world as rough as the dance, but Fanny was determined the twins should carry on the tradition.  And it was no different with your Ma.”

The cage door of the elevator swung open and I looked inside my first Penthouse that wasn’t stapled.  You could hear our footsteps echo as the three of us walked into Uncle Roy’s chrome and glass office.

Once let inside, me and Brother Hickpacker settled into chairs opposite a big glass desk.  Uncle Roy glided behind me, running his fingers across the back of my neck.

“Hmmm, you’re so very much like your Ma, you know.”  (I blushed deeply, figuring he meant it as a compliment.)  “If only your Ma had the educational advantages enjoyed by Fanny’s two daughters, she might have brought in more money from her stage jobs,” Uncle Roy shared.

“You know, when Toots gave birth to your Ma…or was it Tovah, I forget…Fanny was none too pleased to have another little bastard…I mean, illegitimate little girl…born into the family.  Fanny was very careful not to soil her chastity.  She never admitted to her adoring public she had any daughters.  She claimed Toots and Tovah were her sisters.

“Fanny didn’t want the tabloids and gossip magazines digging around and discovering the truth, so she presented your Ma as her youngest sister in a public relations blitz including plenty of photo-ops.  Her fans fell for it.

“Fanny graciously accepted your Ma into the family fold, but she still insisted your Ma pick up her dancing licks from Toots and Tovah whenever The Hot-Cha-Cha Girls performed backstage.  Although your Ma never received a proper schooling, she was simply born to dance.  Kid, if your Ma hadn’t gotten involved with Johnny and his sheep glands, she’d probably be alive and kicking today.”

Uncle Roy gave me a compassionate once over.  “It was right after your Ma left you to be with Fanny that she hooked up with Johnny.  After that, Baby Harmonica came into the world.”  Uncle Roy sighed.  “By now Fanny was past the point where another sister was feasible, so she was greatly relieved when Johnny accepted his financial liabilities and made your Ma an honest woman.”

I interrupted, “But didn’t you say you had something for me, Uncle Roy?”

“Of course I do,” he winked.  “You are so very much like your Ma.”

Uncle Roy pulled a black velvet painting off the wall.  Taped to the back of the picture was an envelope.  He removed the envelope and handed it over.

“The day your Ma handed me this,” Uncle Roy heaved a sigh, “was the last day I saw her alive.”

I grabbed my birthright and tore the envelope open with my teeth like a hungry Hong Kong wharf rat.  Inside there was nothing but a fancy folded piece of paper.

“That’s a certificate for 100,000 shares of Robbins & Caruso stock,” Uncle Roy explained.  “It’s made out to you and your sister.  Of course, that’s an old certificate.  The shares since then have split many times, plus there are all those years of dividends.  You may consider yourself a very rich young man.  Yes, indeed, you and your sister.

“There’s just one hitch.  No one knows whatever happened to Baby Harmonica.  You see, after Baby was orphaned at such a tender age, Fanny decided it was best to send her away to an institution with a reputable dancing curriculum.  So Fanny had me enroll Baby at The Daisy Schemmerhorn Academy of Dancing Arts.  It wasn’t long after that we heard rumors the mob planned to rub out Baby, too.  Someone at the school must have gotten wind of this, because when we went to pick up Baby for her own protection we found the school completely boarded up.  Everyone was gone, including Baby.

“Your Great-Grandma was heartbroken when she got the news of the little girl’s disappearance,” Uncle Roy reached across the desk and gently ran his soft fingers against my cheeks.  “Just like she was when you ran away with that cheap Gypsy circus.”

Uncle Roy stood up and adjusted my collar, “But you’ve returned to claim what’s rightfully yours.”  His face beamed, “Now you need to go find your co-beneficiary, Baby Harmonica.”

Brother Hickpacker snatched the stock certificate from my hand and mumbled prayerfully, “Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah,” as he stroked it.

“But first things first,” Uncle Roy placed a concerned hand on my shoulder.  “Kid, we got a funeral to go to.”

Uncle Roy swirled in his office chair, “Fanny being Fanny made sure she had enough cash hidden from the lawyers and tax accountants for one, last blowout.  I’ve placed her obit all over the country offering paid transportation to her surviving fans, provided they can make it here in time.”

Arising from his seat Brother Hickpacker offered, “As the inspirational guide who ushered Miss Kartone into the hereafter, it would be a privilege to deliver the eulogy.”

I wondered if an affair like this might have beer on tap?