every club luncheon--the height of Jack's week, the pinnacle of his
career. "Vocabulary shmocabulary. You steal your jokes from Reader's
Digest," snitches the endangered silent star. There are crimson
pools the shape of cresent moons floating in his eyelids.
Lillian a little better smell of the
Old Spice and cigars. She could sit on his shoulder and be the size of
his head. Waving a leaf of lettuce like a forked luna moth the professor
of pain looks up through twisted eyebrows and says, "How's Mae these days,
Gorilla?" "The Lady is fine," Gorilla answers.
Wrinkles lifts his flaccid hairpiece. There is a lot of gossip about Mae West and Gorilla Jones. Mazurki will only volunteer that Mae has a soft spot in her heart for Gorilla, and Gorilla is mum on the subject. Never even mentions The Lady's name. Long
ago he quit being publicly familiar about her, ever since the night a
stranger made remarks Gorilla didn't like. The normally cool fighter
challenged the man, but The Lady called him off. "Let 'em talk. It's good
for business."
