Confederacy of Dunces, A - John Kennedy Toole [76]
“Here we come,” Darlene called happily from the door. She tripped into the bar in slacks and a pea jacket, carrying a covered birdcage.
“Well, don’t plan to stay too long,” Lana answered. “I got some news for you and your friend.”
Darlene put the cage on the bar and uncovered a huge, scrofulous rose cockatoo that looked, like a used car, as if it had passed through the hands of many owners. The bird’s crest dipped, and it cried horribly, “Awwk.”
“Okay, get it out, Darlene. You go back to your stool starting tonight.”
“Aw, Lana,” Darlene moaned. “Whatsa matter? We been doing good in rehearsal. Just wait’ll we iron out the kinks. This act is gonna be a boffo smash.”
“To tell you the truth, Darlene, I’m afraid of you and that bird.”
“Look, Lana.” Darlene took off her pea jacket and showed the manager the tiny rings attached to the side of her slacks and blouse with safety pins. “You see these things? That’s what’s gonna make the act smooth. I been practicing with it in my apartment. It’s a new angle. He grabs at those rings with his beak and rips my clothes off. I mean, these rings is just for rehearsal. When I get my costume made, the rings are gonna be sewed on top of a hook and eye so when he grabs, the costume pops open. I’m telling you, Lana. It’s gonna be a smash hit sensation.”
“Listen, Darlene, it was safer when you just had that goddam thing flying around your head or whatever it did.”
“But now it’s gonna be a real part of the turn. It’s gonna pull…”
“Yeah, and it might pull your tits off. All I need in this place is a goddam accident and a ambulance to drive away my customers and ruin my investment. Or maybe this bird gets it in his head to fly out in the audience and pull out somebody’s eyes. No, to be frank, I don’t trust you and a bird, Darlene. Safety first.”
“Aw, Lana.” Darlene was heartbroken. “Give us a chance. We just getting good.”
“No. Beat it. Take that thing off my bar before it takes a shit.” Lana threw the cover over the birdcage. “The you-know-whats are gone and you can go back to your stool.”
“I think maybe I’ll tell you-know-who about the you-know-whats and make you-know-who scared and quit.”
Jones looked up from an advertisement and said, “If you peoples be talkin all this double-talk, I cain read. Whoa. Who the ‘you-know-whats’ and who ‘you-know-who?’”
“Get off that stool, jailbait, and get on my floor.”
“That bird been travelin to Night of Joy practicin and tryin,” Jones said from his cloud, smiling. “Shit. You gotta give it a chance, cain treat it like it’s color peoples.”
“That’s right,” Darlene agreed sincerely.
“Since we cuttin off the orphan chariddy and we not extendin it to the porter help, maybe we oughta give a little to a po, strugglin gal gotta hustle on commission. Hey!” Jones had seen the bird flap around on the stage while Darlene tried to dance. He had never seen a worse performance; Darlene and the bird qualified as legitimate sabotage. “Maybe it need a little polishin here and there, a little twistin and rockin, some more slippin and slidin, but I think that ack very good. Ooo-wee.”
“You see that?” Darlene said to Lana. “Jones oughta know. Colored people got plenty rhythm.”
“Whoa!”
“I don’t wanna scare somebody with a story about some people.”
“Oh, shut up, Darlene,” Lana screamed.
Jones covered the two with some smoke and said, “I think Darlene and that there bird very unusual. Whoa! I think you be attractin plenny new peoples in this place. What other club got them a ball eagle on the stage?”
“You jerks think there’s really a bird trade we could tap?” Lana asked.
“Hey! I sure they a bird trade. White peoples always got parrakeets and canayries they smoochin. Wait till them peoples fin out what kinda bird the Night of Joy offerin. You be havin a doorman in front this place. You be gettin the