While Drowning in the Desert Read Online Free PDF

the Palm Room I heard Natty say, “Guy comes home and finds his wife rubbing her breasts with newspaper. He asks her what she’s doing. She says, ‘I read in a magazine that if you rub your breasts with newspaper they’ll get bigger.’”
    There was an expectant chuckle from the small crowd in the cocktail bar. (I was going to say a “titter of laughter,” but I thought better of it.) Natty waited out the laugh, then continued, “The guy says, ‘Newspaper? You should try toilet paper.’ The wife says, ‘Toilet paper? Why?’ and the guy says, ‘Well, it worked on your ass’. ”
    The dozen or so people in the room roared. Didn’t laugh— roared. I slipped into a booth at the back and hoped Natty didn’t see me from the tiny stage. I looked around for the plainclothes security, made him in about three seconds, and nodded. The guy gave me a quick wave and strolled out.
    It wasn’t too tough to reconstruct what had been happening. The piano player, a young guy with slicked-back black hair, was sitting back on his bench, relaxing, sharing the fun, and figuring his tip jar wasn’t going to suffer because the customers were getting some free laughs. The few drinkers in the place just looked surprised and delighted that this impromptu stand-up routine had started from this ancient guy they maybe recognized from TV.
    And Natty Silver was having fun. Standing on that shitty little stage, leaning on his cane, eyes sparkling, teasing the crowd with his deadpan delivery and killer timing.
    “Guy and a dog walk into a bar …” he was saying.
    I checked my watch. If I grabbed Natty right now we could still make the plane and I could wrap up this errand. It would be a simple matter of getting up, easing Natty off the stage and grabbing a cab to the airport. Otherwise we’d miss the last flight to Palm Springs and that would mean spending the night in Vegas. Another night away from the old thesis, another night away from Karen.
    It would mean an extra day of babysitting an old man who had a seemingly endless repertoire of old jokes.
    I started to slide out of the booth.
    Shit, I thought. Shit, shit shit.
    I signaled the waitress, ordered a scotch rocks and sat back in the banquette.
    What’s another night? I thought. I had a lot of them and Natty Silver probably didn’t.
    “Guy says to the dog, ‘You never behaved this way before.’ ”
    Natty Silver looked very much alive as he teased the punch line.
    “Dog says, ‘I never had money before.’ ”
    Hope was right: Natty Silver was very funny.

Chapter 5
    “You want what?” I asked natty as we left the Flamingo and headed back to the Mirage.
    “Chocolate cake,” he said.
    “It’s ten-thirty at night.”
    “What, chocolate cake disappears at ten?” he asked. “There’s a law, all chocolate cake has to become angel food cake by ten-fifteen? We’re run by chocolate-cake Nazis now?”
    I wasn’t sure I even wanted to contemplate the image of a chocolate-cake Nazi, so I just sighed. “Where can we get chocolate cake?”
    “You’re the detective,” Nate snapped. “Find some.”
    “I’m not a detective.”
    “No, you’re an ‘escort’ with no bazookas.”
    I was about to say, given the cantilevered architecture of Hope White’s build, that he had more than filled his bazooka quota for the day, but I decided he’d have a punch line for that and I didn’t want to hear it.
    I decided to take a professional approach.
    “Look,” I said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go get your damn chocolate cake. Then we’re going back to the Mirage and then we’re going to bed. Then we’re going to get up early and catch the first flight back to Palm Springs. No booze, no broads, no pastry. Got it?”
    He looked at me with those little bird-eyes.
    “No breakfast?”
    It did sound a little harsh.
    “We can have breakfast,” I relented.
    “What?”
    “What ‘what’?”
    “What ‘what what’?” he asked. “What’s for