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Excerpts

"Pleased to meet you," I said, extending my hand.

"She doesn't shake hands."

Tallulah took a long drag from her cigarette and blew out the smoke. Malcolm waved his hand in front of his face.

"You'll get used to it, Tallulah said. She took another puff of her cigarette and blew the smoke into the space between Malcolm and me. "Being invisible will make your assignments easy, darlings."

"Are we invisible?" I asked.

"Not yet. You have to go through the Orgone." She lifted her eyes to the ceiling so that her eyelashes rested against her eye sockets like two small furry animals that Malcolm and I might have buried.

"Assignment?" Malcolm asked. "Assignment? How can you talk about an assignment when I haven't yet found out what I am doing here or how I got here or even what I am."

"What you are is an amateur, darling."

"Less than an hour ago, I was a kid..."

"Kids are amateur adults," Tallulah said.

"But..." Malcolm began protesting.

"Shut up, Malcolm," I said. "Let's listen to the woman."

Tallulah smiled and nodded. "Your first assignment is Carl A. Vogel," she said. "Exit upstage left. That should take you straight through the Orgone."

I started to leave, but Malcolm held back. "What are we supposed to do about Carl A. Vogel?"

Tallulah lowered her lashes and looked at Malcolm through hooded eyes. "You'll know what to do when you see him."

"How am I supposed to know that I have seen him. I've never laid eyes on Carl A. Vogel."

"Lucky," she said lighting a fresh cigarette from her old one. She delicately put the butt into a silver ashtray, as large as a birdbath, that rested on a mother-of-pearl table near her elbow.

"I've had nightmares better than this," Malcolm said. "I have one nightmare where I am sitting in a classroom about to take a math exam, and I haven't opened the book all year. That nightmare is better than this assignment."

Tallulah said, "That's strange. I used to have that nightmare, too. I always thought it was because I never had opened the book all year. Math," she said making a face that turned everything in her face downward.

"I happen to like math very much, and I happen to be very good at it. It is one of my talents." Tallulah took a deep puff of smoke and blew it out before turning to Malcolm to say, "Mathematics is for the dentists of the soul."

"If it weren't for mathematics, you wouldn't have computers."

"No, darling," Tallulah said, "You wouldn't. I never wanted one. I once had to learn how to operate an electric toaster, but I really didn't care for the work. There was no controlling the rye bread, and I never could get the bagels to fit into those narrow slots. Tallulah always burned her fingers pulling them out, and the one time she tried to get them out with a fork, she caused the lights to go out for five city blocks."

"About Carl A. Vogel. Can you give us a hint about how we are to do this assignment," Malcolm asked.

"Very well."

Malcolm moved closer to her, clearing the air in front of him by waving his band. Tallulah continued looking at him. "Well," he said. "What is it?"

"What is what?"

"I asked you to give us a hint about how we are to do this assignment, and you said 'very well.' I'm waiting."

"That's how you're supposed to do it: very well. I want you to get these preliminaries over with so that you can find my necklace."

"What necklace?" I asked.

"My necklace containing The Regina Stone. It is simply beautiful, darlings. It was given to me by a fan in honor of my most famous role. As long as she wore it, Tallulah bad good fortune." She looked into the distance and let the cigarette in the holder burn down. "Run along now. Upstage left and through the Orgone. Mr. Carl A. Vogel is your assignment."

We started out, but Tallulah called us back. "Left is right onstage, darlings. Upstage is back, and downstage is front. In the theater, darlings, the stage makes the world a mirror image. And remember, you are players now." As we started to leave again, she called out to us, "Bring me a pack of cigarettes, darlings. Herbert Tareyton is my brand. I like them king size and mentholated with filter tips."

"You really ought not to smoke," Malcolm said.

"Don't worry, darling. It won't kill me." She tilted her head back and laughed. "King size," she said, settling back into her bank of pillows. "Surely, someone up there must still smoke. The way they pick on smokers is enough to make me glad I left the real world when I did. Back of the bus. Back of the plane. Move your seat in a restaurant. The whole United States is becoming a health spa. Sometimes I get such a migraine from the pounding of the joggers' feet that I want to dig the ground out from under them, but they would be back within a week, pounding, pounding, pounding. Do you want to know the best kept secret in the western world? It's this: Baryshnikov smokes. Now if you can find anyone who moves better than be does, you kidnap him and bring him to me." She put a fresh cigarette into her bolder. "Oh! I almost forgot," she said, sitting bolt upright. "You must say something beautiful when you've finished, so I'll know to bring you back. How about fettucini alfredo. Yes. Say that."

"Fettucini alfredo? What kind of a password is that?" Malcolm asked. "Even Jeanmarie could think of something more beautiful than that to say."

Tallulah said, "Well, it must be something that doesn't come up in ordinary conversation." She rubbed her forehead for a minute. "I have it. Say Papillon! That's French for butterfly. In the Middle Ages, butterflies were thought to be symbols of the soul." Then she looked at Malcolm and said mischievously, "That's s-o-u-l, darling."